The Little Kraken
by MarinAllKarins
Summary: Two hostages had been taken that day; Theon and his cousin Nesta. For what the rebellion had cost, both of them had to pay the iron price. Nesta was taken to King's Landing as ward of the king. She has learned to survive in the city of murderers and manipulators, but has what she learned of any use? When the War of Five Kings begins, perhaps it takes a kraken to change the tides.
1. Child of Salt

**Disclaimer** **:** I know. Another one? Honestly, this story came to me after re-reading the books. I'm now a bit more interested in House Greyjoy, and I think they deserve a little more love. The FC I'm using is Dilraba Dilmurat because I think we need more WoC fics. As I'm sure you all know, I own nothing! Not an absolute thing. GRRM does as well as HBO, I suppose you can say.

* * *

 **NESTA**

 _289 AL_

"Will the Drowned God protect them?"

Having been awake since dawn, she had gazed out the window solemnly as the clouds gathered slowly but surely. They were dark, unyielding, and they smothered the orange, Summer sun and usurped the skies. The air became thicker and saltier than usual, stronger in smell from being carried by the gale that sung harshly. The sea storm made her feel uneasy, mostly because her uncle spoke of victories and independence as it raged on. His exact words were: _"Pyke will return to its former glory again"_ and _"all will know the King of the Iron Islands again"._ Nesta hadn't truly understood what he truly meant by any of that. All she knew was that when her uncle had that odd gleam in his eyes, it had meant something serious. And whatever that serious thing was, she had hoped to avoid it for it roused a sense of dread in her.

"Do you want Him to protect them?" An answer wasn't given to her first question, and so she pursued to ask him another. She was bent on being answered in some way. Her eyes tore away from the window to look up at her beloved Theon. He was her fourth eldest cousin as well as the only boy one that she held love for. "Do you want the Drowned God to take them, Theon?" He kept quiet, his eyes vacant as he stared out into the sea. Why wouldn't he speak? She couldn't understand why he remained so silent. What was so wrong about what she asked him? "I hope He takes them," she said about her own kin, of both Maron and Rodrik. "I hope the Drowned God takes them into the sea and never gives them back."

Theon suddenly gripped her shoulders, forcing her to face him as he shook her wildly. "Shut up!" he shouted, startling her. "Don't say things like that!" His eyes were narrowed, his face twisting itself into a scowl. "What if someone hears you? What if my father had heard you say that?" Nesta became wide-eyed, only briefly before drawing in her lips to lick them. Her eyes fell in shame, or so she pretended to feel such a thing. She had not once thought that she could've been heard by someone. Quite frankly, she had not been thinking much at all. She had always been the kind to act before thought; impulsive, this girl of seven was. "He'll be furious if he knew you wanted their death. He'll hit you, do you understand?" Theon shook her again, making sure the words sank in. "He'll _hit_ you," he stressed.

It was true. Her uncle adored Maron and Rodrik, his eldest boys, the true iron sons that any ironer could ever pray to the god for. If he heard her words, he would be enraged and like Theon had said, he'd strike her with his hand. A hand to temper her mouth, he'd say. A woman should know her place, he'd say also. Balon was a strict man with a heart like a maelstrom. If he found fault, he took action and all his actions did not rely on just words. Nesta loved him little. He never gave her a reason to love him and she was sure it was not her love that he wanted, only her respect. Perhaps not even that. Why would he care what a salt-child thinks?

"But Maron and Rodrik are cruel," Nesta's voice was low, a poor attempt to be careful of who could be around to hear them. She would not back down from her feelings, no matter the cost. "They beat you, Theon. Won't things be better with them gone?"

Her cousin smiled before hauling her close, his small body a comfort when days were confusing or sad. She looked for comfort in Theon, and she looked for strength in Yara. "I'll be fine, Nessie." Her arms wrapped themselves around him, her face pressing into the middle of his chest. He was lying, she knew, but she wasn't feeling so bold to call him out on it right now. "Rodrik and Maron only do that to make a man of me. Ironborn can't be weak; we must know pain so that we can give it. You can't give what you don't understand, you hear?"

She heard him. She just couldn't understand and more so, she hadn't like that he came to Maron and Rodrik's defense. She would've rather him agree with her. She would rather him be honest as he usually is with her. Seeing as steadfast he was with what he thought, Nesta merely nodded her head so that Theon wouldn't be frustrated with her opposing views. Neither did she want to hear him say that she doesn't understand anything because she's a girl or because she's a salt-child. Everyone just didn't understand how clearly she understood what happened around her, though she had discovered posing as ignorant worked greatly in her favor… Most of the time.

Theon soon took her hand, holding it tight as he led her out of the middle hall. "My father says we aren't to leave the Sea Tower," he explained to her. She wanted to ask why but kept quiet. 'If that's what my father says then that's what my father says, Nesta. Stop questioning everything', she was certain he would say. Theon was obedient to his father by an absolute fault. Only a few times would he rebel, and she noticed Balon rather liked him better when he did.

"Where is Yara?" she asked, curious of her only girl cousin whereabouts.

"In her chambers," he answered. "Where _you_ should also be." The corners of her lips dipped down into a frown. She didn't want to be in her chambers. She wanted to be with Theon and Yara. She wanted to play games or do something that would keep her from lessons with the priest. The priest was a scraggly man with a voice so monotone that it could put one to sleep. She would rather read than hear his voice for what felt like torturous hours on end.

"And where are you going?" Nesta inquired, wondering if he would be truthful. Sometimes Theon liked to run off, chasing after the legs of adults because he liked to be apart of something. He didn't like her clutching his leg all the time, even if he did enjoy the adoration she felt for him because he knew more and was older. Theon liked attention, but enjoyed it better when it suited certain needs at certain times.

"I want to see if we can see any battling in the sea from here." Theon's excitement hadn't rubbed off on her. It only served to deepen the dread she had been feeling for a while.

"Why would there be battling? Who is fighting?" Her cousin rolled his eyes, hand fiercely tugging hers to make her pick up the pace.

"Us! We're battling, the ironmen! We're fighting King Robert." His voice rose a pitch, tongue eager to waggle about all that he knew. "My father is King of the Iron Islands now and he will not bow down to the Usurper! These are our islands, why should that man rule over it? We helped him to a throne and it's only right that we have ours again."

None of this made much sense. The Usurper was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and Balon helped him be. Why rebel? Why did Balon feel the need to make the Islands their own kingdom again? "And my father is out there? He's battling King Robert's men at sea?"

Theon nodded, making her heart want to sink down into her stomach. "He's commanding the Iron Fleet," Nesta swallowed thickly, her hands wanting to latch onto something. Her father was at the helm of the fleet in the middle of the sea. _Drowned God, protect him,_ she thought. She had to pray for him, but how can she? She wasn't allowed to leave the Sea Tower and pray in the sea waters. How can the Drowned God feel her sincerity from here? "I heard he burned the Lannisters' entire fleet."

Now she understood why her father left without explanation. He had left at dawn a fortnight and some days ago, having come to her room to bid her farewell while she wished him safe sailing. He had promised her that he would return with a gift, something from a place she had not been to yet. Through yearning and excitement, Nesta woke up every dawn and would peer out the window waiting for his ship to return to Pyke's shores. It was why she was awake now, just to be disappointed that he had not yet returned.

He was an odd man, her father, that is. Nesta had heard stories of him that would make a girl clutch her sheets tight in fright but when she was with him, he was calm and sporadically affectionate. He would carry her, never faltering in strength from the weight and height she gained as the years passed, and they would walk on the beach of Pyke. Sometimes he'd take her on his ship and they'd sail across Ironman's bay to Seagard and he would let her take what she wanted. He would also tell her plenty of stories, too. All those stories were of the sea, of the great krakens, of all their glory. He did not have the tongue to tell them well like her favorite uncle, Aeron, but she loved hearing them all the same.

"He burned the ships of the lions?" Nesta felt pride swell within her. Tywin Lannister was a name she knew, a name that provoked fear within those that knew of what happened to House Reyne. It led her to wonder how the mighty and proud lion-lord of Casterly Rock took to losing against the ironborn. "So my father is fine, then? He's still… alive?"

"Of course," Theon said with ease but that ease soon faltered, becoming something else. "But I don't know what happened at Fair Isles. I hear we lost that fight."

Her heart throbbed, almost painfully. Her father was still out at sea and if he had lost then that could mean his ship had been torn apart, sunken into the unforgiving sea or possibly went up in flames. The Drowned God could've taken him and nobody had not yet known. She didn't want the Drowned God to have her father. He couldn't have him. "Want to come with me?" asked Theon.

Nesta shook her head, her hands gathering the skirts of her dress. Her knuckles were pale from clutching so tightly and she felt herself wanting to cry out of anxiety. Theon was lucky his father was home. He had nothing to worry about. If her father was dead then what would become of her? No mother, no father, and of the salt… Balon could throw her wherever he wanted and to whomever he pleased.

"No," her voice softened to a whisper. "I don't want to see." Her cousin's expression had changed, his eyes lost that excitement they held and melted with concern. "I'll go back to my bedchambers."

It must've been shocking or why else would he'd look at her so bug-eyed? It was rare for her to do as she should and for her to be so willing? She must've really shocked him. "Uncle Victarion will be fine," he tried to reassure her. It hadn't worked. It hadn't even helped for a second. "You know our words, Nesta. What did the priest tell him? What does he tell all o' us during the ritual?"

"What is dead may never die," Nesta recited the words she has heard repeatedly and has kept faith to. "But rises again, harder and stronger."

With a sharp nod, her cousin gave her a grin that was contagious. As she said, Theon brings her comfort. They had been so blissfully unaware, not knowing for a single moment that King Robert Baratheon and Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell would land on their shores and tear their lives apart.

 **JAIME**

 _289 AL_

He remembered the day Robert first brought her into the Red Keep. Nesta was a short thing; chubby-faced and only of age seven. Her little feet practically dragged as she walked alongside Robert and Ser Barristan with her eyes staring down at the pale floors of the castle. Not once did she look up. It was almost as if she thought she would shatter to pieces if she had. Jaime thought her too young to know of pride, for most would've kept their chins up; Cersei as a girl that age certainly would have. He had been wrong, though. The girl knew of pride, but she was of mind to know when it was wise to show it and wise to hide it.

They kept her in the Maidenvault, away from the royal family while simultaneously close. Living just as lavishly as them, too. It was strange, for a ward, to be given that luxury and yet Robert made it so without argument. Jaime couldn't count on one hand when Robert made much sense to him anyhow, so he didn't feel much inclined to care of why Robert was so adamant with this decision. What Jaime had understood was that the girl was a glorified prisoner. They would wreath her in silks, bathe her in waters with those overwhelming flowery scents, and let her eat food that a pisspoor man in Flea Bottom couldn't handle on his palate. Tended to like a lady, dressed in silks, but shackled with invisible chains of gold.

For a fortnight, she wailed hours on end in her bedchambers. Whenever his shift caused him to pass her door or keep watch of her due to the change of rounds, he could hear the high-pitched sounds that would make a man think ghosts roamed. She would cry all day and all night, but when she was made to leave her chambers, she would not so much as whimper. Her eyes would be red, brimmed with tears and puffy. Her little hands would practically smash away the stains of tears and the back of her sleeves used to wipe her nose. The girl would look as if she would faint, having cried herself to the point of pure exhaustion, but the look in her eyes would say otherwise. She was not a broken, homesick girl. Instead, she was a girl who would so proudly not let her emotions be laid bare to the open world and would hide them away behind closed doors.

And for some reason, her actions felt familiar to him.

He kept his distance, reasonably so, since he felt such strange familiarity of her actions stir something in him. Jaime could not be bothered by such emotions, mostly because something like that feels more like a chore than anything else. He also set his life on this routine that became natural to him since Robert became king and he did not need a single thing to ruin it. Of course, that had all changed in just a matter of a month. The young iron child had become interesting to him again.

The first time he had seen her smile was when she first met Tyrion.

"What do you make of King Robert's little Greyjoy ward?" His little brother had asked him as they ambled down the dimly-lit halls of the keep to the Maidenvault. "I hear she doesn't bear the look of a Greyjoy at all."

"What's there to make of a child?" Jaime replied, expression borderline bored and confused. "She doesn't. Most likely has a foreign mother." It wasn't much of a surprise. Foreigners were of abundance in harbor cities and since the Iron Islands were so close to Seagard and even of Old Town, it wasn't hard to assume that her mother unfortunately got herself tangled with the likes of the reapers and sea raiders that were the ironborn.

Tyrion hummed in thought, his curiosity obviously piqued. "Did she come in shouting of the wrath of her Drowned God? I can't imagine our king would've taken kindly to that."

It would've been a rather humorous sight and certainly not as depressing as how she actually entered the keep. Jaime might've liked her more if she fought Robert and shouted curses, yelling about some odd god that only stays at the bottom of the sea. "I wish she did." Tyrion also looked disappointed but not enough to be deterred from wanting to see this little ironer.

Their steps slowed until they stood before the two, tall and carved doors of the Maidenvault. Jaime raised a fist, knocking twice at the door before taking a few steps back. They waited, hearing the sounds of hesitant yet shuffling feet. The girl was by her lonesome today, the septa having not visited her yet for lessons, and so he supposed she was wary that company had come to see her.

The door opened, just a crack, after a few short minutes. All that could be seen was one big and brown eye that searched for who knocked before eventually meeting his gaze. She stared him for a solid minute before opening the door further. Nesta must've gotten used to him or so it would seem, for she trusted him enough to further open the door than to shut it close. They had never spoken to one another but more often than not, they were almost if not always together for some reason or another. Her eyes soon fell to Tyrion, who she happened to be taller then.

"You must be Nesta. I've been most eager to meet you," his brother had said. "Your father has made quite the impression on mine. Such a strange impression that I fear that's why you're here in the first place."

The girl said nothing, she only stared. "Forgive me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Tyrion Lannister, if you haven't heard of me yet; brother of Queen Cersei, brother of Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard, and son of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock." He always had to go the extra mile, Jaime mused. As if the girl cared about all those things or hadn't known any of that already.

Her eyes looked at Tyrion from head-to-toe and back again. "You're little to be a man," was all she had bothered to say, completely ignoring everything that was just said.

Jaime found himself rather annoyed, truly, by this child's lack of respect than of her small understanding. She was but a girl, of course, and might've never laid her eyes on a man of Tyrion's stature before. It still hadn't made it right that she would speak such words without thought. Despite his feelings on the matter, Jaime kept himself tight lipped. The need to defend his little brother was nestled inside his chest, though the fierce protectiveness he held for Tyrion was beginning to wane due to the knowledge that he shouldn't verbally combat with a child of seven. None of that hadn't stopped him for being so tempted to, however.

Tyrion's response was not out of the norm for him. His brother always did fashion himself as witty. "Why yes, I'm a small man; a dwarf, many would say."

He continued to watch, his green eyes steadily peering out of their corners as he crossed his arms over his chest. The iron girl's head fell in a curious tilt before she spoke again; "Then what do you say?" she asked him. "If that's what many would say of you then what do you say of yourself?"

One of Jaime's fine and golden eyebrows had rose, curiosity brewing while Tyrion looked rather… dumbfounded. So rarely could his brother be taken by surprise to the point a response wasn't immediate. For a few seconds, silence settled and then Tyrion gathered himself again. "I would say that I'm just as any man," he replied. "Just smaller than most."

The corners of her pink lips twitched, almost as if she meant to fight the smile that tried to take shape. "Then you're just a man as any man, just smaller than most."

Tyrion, unnaturally so, was quiet for a moment. Then it came, the sound of a familiar chuckle that Jaime had not been expecting. "I think I rather like you, Nesta Greyjoy."

The girl's expression gave nothing away, at least not to Jaime. "If you like me then take me from here." Jaime's brows both shot up, surprised by her bold words. Tyrion, surprised as well, made the same expression. He then turned to look at him before looking back at Nesta, almost if to ask if he had heard her say that.

"I suppose you are tired of the Maidenvault," Tyrion said with amusement. "I'm sure you won't be missed here and the king will find no fault in me taking you. Come, little Nesta Greyjoy, let's take a walk." Nesta's lips quirked in a joyful smile. It was as if Tyrion were some savior, taking her away from the awful prison and to the outside world. One should assume it was, Jaime suspected. This place was like a prison; a pretty prison but a prison nonetheless.

Her little feet quickly shuffled across the floor, her small legs hurrying her on until she and Tyrion fell in step with one another.

And soon, when the distance was of his choosing, Jaime Lannister had followed behind.

 _298 AL_

Even now, Jaime was following behind Nesta Greyjoy as she moseyed down the hall of the Red Keep.

Warm sunlight shone through the halls, casting squares onto the honeyed wine-colored floor and reflecting onto several objects in the hall which decorated its otherwise simplicity. The curtains, sheer and opaque, billowed as the Summer breeze swam through. The morning is a sight to behold, if you'd care for that sort of thing, and it's a morning that doesn't make one think that a man has just died.

The chorus of heavy bells that sung of mourning had rang throughout the keep and the entirety of King's Landing, allowing no soul alive to forget that the old Hand of the King has perished. He wasn't meant to forget, but Jaime had not a care in the world that Lord Jon Arryn was dead. At this time, he was supposed to be searching for Cersei, knowing very well that she was anxious because Jon Arryn was sticking his nose in what wasn't rightfully any of his business. It was a relief to know he was gone, and so Jaime found there to be nothing to fear. His twin, however, was always paranoid; he knew better than to think that her mind wasn't scrambled with nonsensical thoughts that Jon Arryn might've told someone about them.

But Nesta Greyjoy was someone he had to keep an eye on. After all, this girl had ruined what little peace he had known, if what he could call anything in this life of his any sort of inkling of peaceful. Nesta and Tyrion were twice as troublesome together, and equal parts aggravating once separated. Both his brother and the king's ward had become inseparable in over a span of nine years and Jaime, more often than not, was left to clean up the messes they made along the way. He supposed it was his fault since Jaime had been willing than he had been resisting. Tyrion was a given, but Nesta…

Nesta was no longer seven. No longer that child that amused him by pretending to behave older than her years. She was now five-and-ten on the short journey of six-and-ten sometime soon. Jaime just isn't one to remember name days. Her chubby face had slimmed and now her face was small and revealed its gentle structure that was overly feminine, no parts handsome. She was tall, almost to his shoulder at least when she once reached only his hips, and svelte. The girl blossomed prettily, only physically in Jaime's eyes. Nesta had men entranced as soon as they saw her large brown eyes that nearly took up most of her face, but it was when she opened her mouth that all the charm she held had turn into dust.

There was no denying she was of the ironborn. She was proud, iron-willed, and she lacked couth most if not all the time. Her honesty was sometimes so brutal and more than that, she was downright mischievous. The septa couldn't change her. In fact, Jaime was more than sure that the septa gave up when the girl reached the age of ten. It left him to wonder if Tyrion or himself was to blame for this; they spoke to her as if they forgot they were in the presence of a girl, always upfront, and telling her what she inquired without considering her age to be a tender issue. She was not Myrcella nor Tommen, meaning that what was supposed to be the blushing maiden or a naïve baby prince as their titles called for was lost on her. She was a ward, and a Greyjoy; vulgarity was in their blood, or so it was taught.

Robert had even taken a liking to her. The both of them would drink and laugh louder than anyone else in the Great Hall. She also goes hunting with him, too; something Jaime hated more than anything else since he would be tasked to tag-along. He was tired of watching them hunt their boars, but he found Nesta's skill in archery to be a little fascinating. She could've picked any weapon but she had chose the bow all because she said it reminded her of her cousin. _"My cousin, Theon, he's an archer. I used to like to watch him while he practiced. He would leave the training ring with his fingers bleeding, never quite satisfied until he met his target more than once."_ The fondness in her eyes, the gentlest smile she could muster, all of it reminded him of when he once looked up to the men he idolized in his youth.

"I'm sure your king is drowning his sorrows," Jaime initiated the conversation, knowing Nesta was aware of him.

"When does he not drown his sorrows?" Nesta shot back. "Lord Arryn was like a father to him."

"He was old enough to be his father, too." He supposed his sarcastic remark was insensitive, but when had Jaime ever cared about sensitivity? "The man was old. He was bound to die one of these days."

"I know," Nesta's gait had changed, there was a jig to her steps now. "It just seems strange to me that a healthy man suddenly becomes a sick man and then he's dead in such a short, short time." Jaime agreed but he wouldn't say anything. Jon Arryn's death didn't seem natural in any sense, and that's saying something since the most unnatural people breathed in this keep. "Someone must've wanted him quiet, don't you think?"

Does she…? No, there isn't any way possible of her knowing and Jon Arryn, if he knew a thing, wouldn't have revealed it to Nesta of all people. The strike of fear that quickly pulsed just as quickly mellowed, his calm facade never faltering. "There's a lot to keep quiet about here. He was _the_ Hand. I'm sure he knew plenty of damning things about everyone here. Wouldn't have someone quieted him sooner if that were the reason?" Jaime replied.

"True." He watched as she took hold of her grey skirts, swishing them childishly. "But maybe what he knew was something that simply could not be ignored."

Locking his jaw, Jaime found himself becoming like his sister; instantly paranoid. "Is there something you know that you're not telling me, Nesta?"

She paused, her hands having stopped their mindless play with her dress. "I tell you everything, don't I, Ser Jaime?" He hated it. That glint in her eyes, that roguish grin on her face, and none of it is even before his very eyes but he knows she's making that face. "I just like to see you squirm."

"I'm not squirming." Grinding his teeth, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "The day I tremble under your words is the day Robert favors water over wine." Nesta laughed, and the sound of it grated his nerves further. "But you should be happy, knowing who the next Hand will be." Her laughter had died down, little by little, and she had finally turned around so that their eyes could meet. She didn't know? Hadn't even guessed from the likes of it. The corner of his mouth lifted, a smirk revealed. "In no time, the king will take us all to that barren wasteland they call the North to beg Ned Stark to take Arryn's place."

He expected for her to be overjoyed. If Robert rode to the North, it was likely he'd bring her along, and in the end she'd be reunited with the cousin she hasn't seen in years. That very same cousin she held a lot of love for and spoke plenty about. But excitement didn't awash her face. Her eyes were wide still and her emotions seemed all over the place. Nesta, for once since he known her, had nothing to say and soon sharply turned and hurried away as if she needed to sort herself out in solitude.

 **THEON**

It nearly made him jump, the sound of a log shifting and settling itself in the fire. Just that sound, simple and familiar, had his heart ready to fly out of its cage. He was excited, terrified, and nearly overwhelmed by the idea that his little cousin was riding north, to Winterfell. It'll be the first time in a long time that Theon would see someone from home again. It had been despairing when it was told that he wasn't allowed to write letters to Pyke or King's Landing because they hadn't trust that the letters would be innocent, thinking he would stupidly write up some plots that anyone could easily read. As if Theon had the power to orchestrate another rebellion while surrounded by Starks in the first place.

He still could remember the day Robert Baratheon decided that one hostage wouldn't be enough. It made sense to him now, why the king took her. It was mostly to appease Tywin Lannister after the devastating loss of his fleet for Robert still owed the man a great deal and marrying his daughter had not quite fulfilled the debt. Nesta was also valuable in other ways, surely capable of marrying anyone that Robert or Tywin could concoct was an ideal match to keep her father under control. Yara was the luckiest one of them all and Theon wondered if she ever felt guilty about that luck. He doubted she did in some ways, Yara knew there was nothing could be done. Not only that, their father lost so they had to suffer the consequences; he had to reap what he sowed.

"You alright?" Robb's voice tore himself from out of his head. Theon's eyes, that were staring absently at the hearth, had finally lifted to see the eyes of his best friend, his foster brother. He had not told Robb much about the little cousin he thinks plenty about. Yara's name left his lips often, but the little salt-girl that used to clutch his leg, he would rather keep selfishly to himself. "You've been staring at the fire since I told you the King will arrive here in a few days."

"She'll be here too, won't she?" Robb didn't need to figure out who it was that he had meant. The way his expression changed into one of sympathy was enough to tell him that. "I haven't seen her in nine years… Will I even recognize her? She was more than a cousin to me, Robb. She was—" he paused and then shook his head before he corrected himself, "she _is_ like a little sister. Just as important to me as Sansa and Arya are to you."

"I doubt the king would keep his ward in King's Landing. I think he has the heart to let her see her cousin after so long," said Robb, attempting his best to calm his frayed nerves. "You once told me her mother was a YiTish woman, didn't you? Shouldn't that make her easy to find in a crowd? No one would look quite like her, now would they?" he jested a little, if only to cheer him up. It worked for Theon smirked and did his best not to chuckle at the very obvious fact. Was his anxiety making him stupid? It certainly felt like it.

Nesta had never known her mother but Theon had, if only for a short while. She was tall and lanky, her hair the color of a raven's wing as it cascaded down to her hips. Her face was round, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and her nose thin and pointed. She was a beauty, and many of the ironmen had praised Victarion on her capture and the marriage. She had been brought to Pyke battle-tired and half-starved. The woman unwillingly accepting her fate once she discovered there was no way she could leave once her feet touched Pyke's shores. She was said to have died from childbed fever, or at least that's what his Uncle Aeron had explained to him.

"If the King had any heart at all, he would've let her stay in Pyke with her father." Theon hadn't meant to say that. He wanted to swallow those words and yet the ease of being with his best friend made him spit them out. He controlled the panic he felt and then looked to Robb, who had an expression he couldn't quite read. Theon had guessed that Robb was going to make up some excuse, for his father had been there when Robert decided that Nesta would be taken as well. Lord Stark had disapproved, thinking that taking the only heir to the Iron Islands was enough. He also hadn't seem too keen that Robert wanted to curry more favor with the Lannisters.

"What's done is done," Robb replied. "There's nothing you can change except to rebuild what time has taken."

Setting his jaw, Theon nodded quietly, knowing there was too much truth in that. All the resentment he harbored would probably never know an end, but he could fix one thing. He could have Nesta love him again, if she even still cared. It was easy to think she had forgotten all about him, wanting to have no memories of Pyke because they were painful. Theon had tried to forget and failed, but maybe Nesta had been stronger than him in that regard. _No,_ he suddenly thought. _She would never forget Pyke. She would never forget her father or Yara… She would never forget me._

"Get some sleep, will you? Who knows when the king will show and Nesta will think we've tortured you if you stand out there with your eyes all black." Robb clapped his shoulder after his kind advice before leaving him alone in the Great Hall. Everyone had already left, but he sat there by himself as he tried to think less of a girl of seven who once looked at him with nothing but love in her eyes.

* * *

 **A/N** : How was it? I'm not sure who I'm gonna pair Nesta with and I'm probably gonna leave that up to the readers, possibly through a poll if I'm stuck. For now, I'm just exploring relationships for her so that everyone can see who meshes well with her. I also added time stamps since Nesta's first POV is when she was seven, which is nine years before the start of the series.


	2. Krakens Together Again

**NESTA**

"Our little Nesta is in a tizzy all for a boy she hasn't seen since her swaddle clothes." Jaime's voice is light, giving away that he's teasing. Nesta doesn't even have to spare him a glance to know that he's rolling those green eyes of his as he spoke. That's just how little he took her anxiety serious. She hadn't expected him to in the first place, for this was Jaime Lannister out of all men. He was the kind of man that remained unfazed about almost any and everything. She's always known him to be that way since she met him as a young man of six-and-twenty.

It wasn't of her choosing to be in a tizzy as Jaime deemed it. She couldn't help that all her stress melted her into a retching mess. Nesta was so nervous about seeing someone from home, Theon most of all, after nine years. For the love of the Drowned God, she was only seven when she had last laid eyes on him. How was she supposed to face him? He's no longer that boy of ten, but a man-grown. He's essentially a stranger to her now. The one person she knew best in the world was now someone she hardly knew at all. It frightened her but most of all, it had hurt. _It broke her heart._ And here Jaime is, not understanding any of that. At least he cared enough to keep her hair from her face as she knelt before the wooden bucket that she was quickly filling up with bile.

Tyrion, the only Lannister she could emotionally rely on, had patted her back rather awkwardly with his little hand. Occasionally, he would leave her side to take a drenched cloth and dab her perspiring forehead. "Would it truly pain you to have _some_ compassion, Jaime?" At least she could count on Tyrion to take her feelings into consideration. He was always good at that. The only thing Jaime is good at is annoying her, quelling her boredom, and (she would never openly admit it) making her feel _safe_. "Imagine being separated from our sweet sister for nine years. I'm sure you'd be nervous upon seeing her again, too."

Jaime shifted awkwardly, still keeping her dark hair in a loose grip. "I wouldn't be spitting my guts out."

"Would you rather she shit them out?" Tyrion cocked his head, playfully goading his older brother. "No? Didn't think you would." Her laugh is bubbling in her throat, but it can't escape due to the dry heave that leaves her after another spasm of her stomach. "This cousin of yours…" he trailed, revealing how hesitant he was to ask what was clearly dangling at the tip of his tongue. He pursued anyway, always thirsting to know what he didn't. "Was he something more to you?"

Feeling weak yet strong enough to not keeping hovering over the bucket, she sat up straight. Nesta aimed to use her thick sleeve to wipe the viscid trail of bile that dribbled down the corner of her mouth but Tyrion had stopped her. He forced her hand away with a swat of his own and used the damp cloth instead. She didn't like being babied, not in the slightest, though she would accept it for now. "He's like a brother to me," Nesta made clear, knowing that Tyrion was curious if her love for Theon was less familial and more romantic. Even if it were, Nesta couldn't trust feelings like that to be no more than childish infatuation. She was only seven back then, what would she have known about love?

Jaime snorted and Nesta knew for a fact that he just rolled his eyes for a second time. "You must love him something fierce, it seems. I can hardly recall you ever being worked up like this," Tyrion gathered. She did— _she does_ —and she's sure that she always will fiercely love Theon despite the years and distance between them. She loves Yara just as fiercely, and her father thrice as much. Nesta only knows how to love fiercely.

"Not as fiercely as she loves her Drowned God," Jaime mocked, having let go of her hair so that he could cross his arms over his chest and lean against the wall. "That's the true reason she's ill in the first place." He was right. Her anxiety wasn't the source of her vomiting, but she would never outwardly agree with him. The thought of giving Jaime any satisfaction of being right was enough to make her blood curdle.

It was during their rest stop at the Neck. Nesta had been so adamant about getting her feet in some seawater for her prayers. Jaime had lectured her about it not being wise, but he only egged her on with all his taunting about her devotion to her religion, as he always does. After prayer, asking the Drowned God to protect and take care of the family she loves and misses as she always does, she decided to play. Nesta loved the sea and nothing had felt more freeing to her than to submerge herself in water, fish, and sun. She was never more alive than while in her element, trying to embody the kraken she is. It came at a cost because after all her playing, the sudden sharp dip in temperature had not been kind to her body. It began with sneezing and then escalated to paling, vomiting and a draining fever.

Tyrion couldn't combat Jaime's words and so he gave her a look that acknowledged that the truth had been unfortunately spoken. Nesta frowned, deeply, before glaring at the knight from the corner of her eyes, wishing he'd shut his mouth for once. "I'll be fine from here on," she sulked like a petulant child. "You both can leave."

She barely gets the chance to so much as attempt to get herself on her feet before Jaime extracts her from the floor, hoisting her in his arms as if she's featherlight. Nesta doesn't fight him, already knowing there's no real use, but instead keeps her eyes averted because she doesn't want to see the smug look on his face. He strode towards the bed that's tucked neatly in a corner of some lord's keep they're staying in and laid her atop of the furs that she immediately curls up against upon contact. It feels good to lay down after kneeling and emptying her stomach. Nesta could go for some fresh water due to the soreness of her throat yet it feels too much to ask after all that they've done for her already.

"Are you sure you'll be fine? I can have one of the servants fetch you a flagon of water." Sedulous and kind, Nesta felt utterly grateful that Tyrion cared so much.

"I'm sure," Nesta, far too proud to admit any sliver of weakness, had replied. "But I'll take a flagon of water." His nod was quick as he headed towards the door, grabbing the handle before looking over his shoulder and up at Jaime. He was fixing his mouth to say something but stopped when he noticed his older brother heading towards him to follow him out of the room.

Tyrion left first as Jaime kept the door open with splayed fingers, deciding not to leave until he's said what he has to say. "I'll be patrolling this floor," he halfheartedly announced. It's his roundabout way of telling her that if she needs him, he'll be outside her door. The corners of her lips twitched, showing an obvious sign that she's fighting not to smile. It's silly, how he can't just outright say that he, in some capacity, cares for her well-being. She comes to surmise that it just wouldn't be very much like Jaime if he didn't make things more difficult than necessary.

"I know," her voice came out much more softer than she intended. She never speaks so kindly to Jaime, even when he surprisingly does something that one can consider nice. "Now leave." With an harrumph, Jaime stepped out of her room and closed the door behind him as quietly as he can muster.

 **THEON**

The coolness of early morning doesn't chill the surge of warmth that began in the pit of his stomach and spread throughout his entire body. He could barely sleep a wink last night, finding himself far too awake to even close his eyes for a single minute. He probably should've asked the maester to help him sleep, but Theon is much too proud to admit that he's enlivened as well as terrified to be reuniting with his little cousin for the first time in nearly a decade. Nobody seems to understand how much all of this had meant to him, not even Robb. After all, Theon is the only one in this lot that isn't allowed a piece of home outside his memories. Now, for the first time since Lord Stark had taken the only heir from his father, Theon gets to have a piece of Pyke again. A piece that he loved, cherished, and missed since the day her screaming and teary eyes was the last he heard and saw of her.

He didn't care about the King nor Queen. He didn't care about the Kingslayer or the Imp. He didn't care about the Crown Prince and the rest of the royal family. All he cared about is little Nesta, who used to walk on the back of his heels and follow him everywhere. Little Nesta, who called him _"Treeon"_ until she could finally pronounce his name correctly. Little Nesta, who used to beam whenever he took her hand and ran down the hallway after her lessons with the priest was done so they could watch the ships or she would watch him train. Little Nesta, who acknowledged him when his father and brothers didn't or when his mother was too tired to spend her time with him. Little Nesta. _His_ _Nesta_. The one thing that belonged to him when he hardly had anything.

The gates of Winterfell had opened and pouring in were the king's horses and men. Theon watched them indifferently, eyes rapidly scouring the place for the one person he wanted to see the most. Prince Joffrey cantered in with his stallion, the looks of him confirming the rumors he recently heard. Just yesterday, Robb informed him and Jon Snow that he was known to be a royal prick and it seemed to have proved true just by the sight of him. Following behind him was the infamous Hound. He had made himself known with his dog helm, leaving no one to try to figure out who he was among the masses.

"Where's Arya?" He heard Lady Stark ask. Theon nearly smirked at the thought of Arya being troublesome as per usual. It didn't matter if the king was here today, she was going to do whatever she liked regardless. "Sansa, where's your sister?"

He hasn't seen the little Stark girl since breakfast in the Great Hall, but Theon was sure Arya knew better than to not show up at all. Only a minute breezed by as more riders with Baratheon banners rode in before Arya came running down the greeting line, hoping to hop into her place unnoticed.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey." Lord Stark looked down at his younger daughter, confused and simultaneously amused as he stopped her from running by him. "What are you doing with that on?" he questioned about the helm before pulling it off and handing it off to someone to take it away.

After Arya found her place in the greeting line, Theon looked up to see that the wheelhouse that belonged to queen had galumphed in. He wondered if Nesta would be riding with the royal family, if she had such a luxury. He didn't have time to keep searching for when King Robert followed in after the wheelhouse, they were all meant to kneel. Theon kept his head bowed, stomach tying itself in knots as he wanted to lift his head and find his cousin. He rose himself up along with everyone else after the king signaled for all to rise.

There was still no sign of Nesta yet.

It was a little more than staggering to see what nine years had done to King Robert. He had last saw this man fit as any king should be with a bloody warhammer in his hands. Theon could still smell the stench of blood that had made his black armor appear sleek of all the Greyjoy men that tried to defend the castle. Theon could also never forget the way he picked Nesta up by her waist, carting her off with no struggle despite all the fighting her little body had done. Now he was fat and ruddy face. He didn't look like a king at all anymore.

"Your Grace," said Lord Stark, the tone of his voice not befitting of someone who was seeing an old friend again.

"You've got fat!" He's as jovial as Theon remembered him to be. Even as imposing as Theon thought him to be back in the Great Keep in Pyke, he could recall that the King wasn't as serious and frigid as Lord Stark. It sometimes made it difficult for a person to wonder how men of such polar opposite personalities were as close as blood brothers.

Theon ignored the rest of their conversation, fixing his gaze to the wheelhouse just to see that only the Queen and her little children had exited out of it. Where was Nesta? Was she here? Or was Robb wrong and Nesta was made to stay in King's Landing? His heart nearly sunk into his stomach and eventually, he looked down to the ground in disappointment.

"Who is that?" asked Arya, curiosity embedded in her voice. "Is she…?" She quickly spun around, grabbing his sleeve after reaching past his cloak. He forced his eyes to lift from the ground and up at her, somewhat dazed in his dismay. "Is that your cousin, Theon?" His head snapped up and within an instant, a smile broke out onto his face.

Riding on a white mare was a young girl that stole his breath and the heat from his skin. As Robb said, she stood out and like a sore thumb, too. She was beautiful, his Nesta. Theon always thought her to be a pretty girl and now she had grown into a beautiful young woman. She looked everything like her foreign mother and only little of Victarion. Theon supposed that was a good thing, for his uncle had strong and fierce features that made him neither handsome nor ugly. His eyes continued to take all of her in, trying to burn inside his mind the way her dark hair was long and wild from being windblown. Most of it cascaded down her back while the rest laid on her small shoulders. Her eyes are as big, brown, and puffy as he remembered them to be and the curves of her face are no longer plump with babyhood.

Theon took a hesitant step forward out of the greeting line. Everyone was already dispersing due to the King wanting to hurry on to the crypts to no doubt visit Lady Lyanna Stark's tomb. Theon didn't have a care for any of that. He just wanted to hear Nesta's voice. He didn't mind who was watching, though he definitely knew Robb and Jon were. "Is that her?" Robb asked him, his voice a little bit above a whisper.

"Aye," Theon answered him, watching Nesta come down from her horse with ease as if she had done it a thousand times. "That's Nesta."

Her eyes were determinedly scanning the courtyard in search for someone. And when she settled her gaze on him, her lips blossomed into the shape of a bright smile. Theon's throat tightened within an instant, his heart racing at how it seemed like the stars themselves had fallen to shine her eyes as she gazed him in that way he cannot forget. _Shit_ , he cursed to himself. If this keeps on, he'll tear up and Robb and Jon Snow would never let him forget it. Theon is never so emotional and he cannot begin to be today, no matter how much he wanted to be.

"Theon?" A voice, soft-toned and almost lyrical, makes the iron-will to hold himself together become like paper. Paper that is soaked by water, that is; practically falling apart without much effort. Before Theon could draw in a breath, there are leather gloved hands on his face and they're squeezing at his cheeks, or lack thereof. His face had always been on the angular side unlike the oval-shaped face of the girl in front of him. "For the love of the Drowned God, look at you!" He's much too shocked to say anything. He hadn't expected her to be so vocal and she's not emotional, either. In fact, she's positively beaming. "You've gotten so tall and handsome. I almost feared you'd take too much after Uncle Balon."

Theon blushed liked a maiden beneath her stare and words while she's laughing, the sound mellow like tinkling bells in his ears. "Look at him!" His brows immediately furrowed at the laughter sewn in Robb's voice. "He's blushing like a bride."

In a fit of embarrassment, he gently removed Nesta's hands from his face to sharply turn at his best friend and foster brother, who was doubling over alongside Jon Snow. "Shut up!" he barked, quaking with agitation. Nesta peered up at him, a smirk on her face and her eyes twinkling with gaiety. If one thing is for certain, Nesta still likes messing with him like she used to. Surely she had known how embarrassing her actions and words were.

Theon turned back to face her, his hands not knowing what to do with themselves but knowing they want to do at least _something_. Stiffly, he rested them atop of her shoulders as he continued to gaze in the dark eyes of his cousin.

What in Seven hells was he supposed to say? His mind is blank, his mouth won't move, and his heart feels like it's about to burst any minute now.

Nesta doesn't wait for him to speak, and thank the Drowned God she doesn't because he doesn't think he can anyway. Her arms slithered themselves like the tentacles of a kraken around his neck, her warm body melting itself into his form like water being poured back into the ocean. She's clutching onto him so tightly, nearly to the point that he swore that he can feel her heart rapidly beating from within. And he's just… frozen. His arms are hovering over her and his mind is trying to make sense that this is happening. His blue eyes immediately began to water and made the world become blurry and grey. He's shaking now because all he can find himself thinking is all the missed time that they'll never get back.

His arms soon folded around her, holding her as if she's the most precious thing in creation and to let go was to lose her forever. He can feel his own tunic getting wet because she's undoubtedly swept by the tide of emotion that was trying to take him under, too. "I've missed you," whimpered Nesta. "I've missed you so much." Theon is the one who pulls his head back to wipe her tears with his gloved thumb. She's eating at him with her eyes, bereft to leave the embrace she pulled him in.

It finally hits him that none of this is an almost forgotten dream.

Nesta is here and she loves him still.

 **ROBB**

It warmed his heart to see family reunited again. It's more than difficult for Robb to imagine how it must feel being separated from family by a large span of land and time. And just to meet each other again older and changed is another wound that must cut deep. There's a lot of healing that needs to be done and sadly, it'll probably be for only a short time. That doesn't matter now, and surely neither Theon nor Nesta is thinking of their limited time together. The two of them are happy and that's all anyone could ever want in a situation like this.

Robb did his best to swallow the laughter that kept bubbling in his throat. What good was self-control when Theon's struggle was so clear? The Theon that Robb knows better than most is cocksure and deems himself pundit when it comes to women, but now? Now he's acting daft. It's almost as if he's never been in the actual presence of a girl before. He was like some speechless fool who is more than afraid that any word that leaves him now was sure to embarrass him. Robb can't find it in him to blame Theon for the way he was acting, though. At least not entirely.

"Can he even speak?" Jon jokingly asked, crossing his arms beneath his cloak as he observed the two Greyjoys.

"I've never seen a man drown outside of water before until now," Robb replied lightheartedly. "Someone has to save him." He knew that Jon wouldn't be the proper person to give Theon some encouragement, mostly because the two didn't very much care for one another. It was Robb that brought them together otherwise they'd stay away from each other throughout the day. Robb steadily made his way towards them and Jon followed only a few paces behind. "He usually doesn't make a fool of himself like this," Robb chimed in once he was close enough to shift their focus from one another and directly at him. "I promise you that my father raised him better."

Theon's glare was stormy, but the clouds in them dispersed once Nesta softly patted his hand. "Really?" she said, her eyes peering up at her cousin. "I was almost afraid he was a mute."

Despite his full-on staring, her eyes would not spare Robb the slightest of glances. "Sometimes I wish he was." Theon looked just about ready to mangle him. "Most of the time, he never really knows when to stop talking." That had been the final straw. Theon had left Nesta side in quick steps to secure and lock Robb in a light chokehold.

"Are you purposely trying to make a fool of me, Stark?" His voice held genuine anger yet there's a hint of playfulness there.

"You seem to be doing that just fine on your own," Robb shot back in a fit of laughter.

Within a few minutes, Robb had managed to wrangle himself out of Theon's hold, somewhat clumsily stumbling away after the Greyjoy lightly shoved him. "This is Robb," he decided to introduce him to his cousin, and hardly did he seem excited to do so at the moment. "He's Lord Stark's eldest son and the heir to Winterfell."

Nesta pinched the side of her breeches and dipped in what seemed like a mocking curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you, my lord. I am Nesta, daughter of Lord Victarion of House Greyjoy and ward of the King." It sounds rehearsed, possibly because she had to repeat this hundreds of times. There was no doubt that Nesta caused a stir wherever she went whether it was because she was a Greyjoy or foreign-looking.

"And this is Jon Snow," Theon lazily waved his hand, showing how little he wanted to introduce Jon. "Lord Stark's bastard."

Jon frowned at the introduction, eyes hardened with anger. Robb should have known Theon wouldn't mince his words when it came to Jon. If he had thought about it sooner, he probably could've saved Jon from being so blatantly disrespected. "A pleasure to meet you as well," Nesta remained polite where Theon did not.

"It is an honor to meet you, my lady—"

"I'm not a lady," she abruptly corrected him. "I am merely a ward, nothing more nor less." Jon looked flushed, possibly wondering if his words were offensive.

"I hadn't meant…" Now Jon was tongue-tied, and obviously not in the good way, it would seem.

"I know what you meant," Nesta said reassuringly. "I have to remind plenty of people of that. You're not the first to make that mistake."

Jon lowered his head, still somewhat embarrassed. Robb suspected that he won't be lifting his gaze from the ground until Nesta was gone. Jon was just that shy around girls and never did well around them. Robb then fixed his attention to her, a friendly smile present on his face. "May I still fancy you a lord's courtesy and kiss your hand?" Robb had hoped to ease the air from the slight tension that hadn't faded yet.

Robb's hand moved to curl around hers, lifting it from her side and raising it slowly to his mouth. Before his lips brushed across the top of her hand in a courtly kiss, like water, Nesta slipped from his grasp with a smirk, a narrowing of her eyes, and a cant of her head. "Even if I were a lady, my lord, I'd rather you didn't." Stunned, Robb stared at her wide-eyed while Theon had dissolved into a fit of laughter, his arms wrapping themselves around his middle as he doubled over. Surprised and insurmountably confused, he wondered what was it that he had done to warrant such a reaction. Using the hand he nearly kissed to sweep back her hair from off her shoulder, she stepped over to her cousin and circled her arm around one of his. "Show me Winterfell, will you?"

Robb's mouth, still open from shock, had silently fell close as Theon nodded. "We'll be seein' you both at the feast then." Theon gave a lazy wave of his free hand, clearly happy to give his little cousin a tour of what was his home for the past nine years.

"Did you see that?" Robb asked Jon once Theon and Nesta were far from earshot.

"See what?" Jon questioned. "Nothing happened."

"She nearly lets me kiss her hand then tells me that even if she were a lady, she'd rather I didn't." How did Jon not pay attention to any of that? "And that look she gave me… I don't think she likes me much." And Robb had no idea what he had done to make Nesta Greyjoy, who barely knew him, dislike him enough to not accept an innocent gesture.

Jon shrugged, making it clear that he hadn't seen nor heard what it was that Robb clearly saw. "She doesn't even know you, Robb. How can she dislike you already?" Maybe he was over-thinking things. He did tend to do that a lot. "Did you expect her to become all moist-eyed?" The confusion in his eyes then iced over into a look of mild annoyance. Robb was not actively flirting with Nesta or anything of the sort. Theon was like a brother to him and all he had wanted was to make good standing with a person that Theon obviously cared for. "Girls love you, Robb, that I know but not all of them will." Getting a pat on the shoulder, Jon walked away from him to leave him in a sea of confused thoughts.

What in Seven hells did all of this turn into?

 **JAIME**

Everyone knows Jaime smiles often, and preferably displays one smile out of the few in particular; the one that cuts like a knife. He had left Winterfell's courtyard to go retrieve his little brother, who undoubtedly liked to be a thorn in their sister's side. Jaime knew that while Cersei held no love for him, she only refused to look the fool because Tyrion would rather play than act like a lord. There had been no real use in wondering where Tyrion had gone off to. If there was a town then there was a brothel and that's exactly where Tyrion was. But it wasn't the obvious fact that he knows his little brother so well that had the corner of his mouth raised. It's the memory of the brief yet amusing interaction between the Wolf Pup and the Little Kraken that his lips were fixed in such a way.

Jaime suspected something like that would happen for it was a natural occurrence for Nesta back in the court of King's Landing. Many men wished to sweeten their first impression of themselves towards her, and most if not all, asked to kiss her hand. She had too many exceptional bits about her to make them care of how they looked in front of her. She was the ward of a king, a child of a lord captain who commanded one of the three greatest fleets of Westeros, and had a pretty face that tends to draw attention like none other. Men either wanted to wed her for gain or bed her, and it was Jaime that taught her to be overly wary of them all.

He especially put in special words for men that sought to kiss her hand, having planted a terrible impression on a growing girl's mind that all men that courteous were terrible. It wasn't so wrong, at least not entirely. Jaime thought that of them himself. The Wolf Pup was no different in his eyes, no matter how honorable the boy's lord father supposedly is. After all, Ned Stark fell into the temptation of bedding a woman that wasn't his wife, bearing no faithfulness that a man of honor should have. Jaime at least knew more faithfulness than Lord Stark. He's been to devoted to one woman all his life, but that means nothing to Ned Stark all because he slayed the Mad King.

Either way, it would be a fool's choice anyway to allow the girl to think she could ever hope to give up her heart. If she found love, she would never be able to keep it. Her life wasn't her own for it was Tywin Lannister that would decide who she would marry. Cersei tries to force her input, making sure to stray the girl from being any potential match for Joffrey. It wasn't likely anyway despite her being about three years his senior. Nobody was mad enough to let an ironborn be queen, let alone let the Greyjoys have any sort of power-obtaining connection to the Iron Throne. It would be too much of a mess, and not a mess that could be easily fixed. It was more than likely that Nesta would marry a Lannister, possibly the likes of Lancel or some distant cousin Jaime can't even remember because there's just too many fucking Lannisters. Tywin would love to build up their fleet to an unstoppable force, and one way to do that was to have ties to the Iron Islands. His father would cement his power by any means for his precious legacy, and Jaime felt somewhat sorry for the girl since she had no way of escaping that legacy like he had done by joining the Kingsguard.

It's no real shock to him that Tyrion won't leave the brothel until he's had his fill and Jaime doesn't know how long his fill would be brought to his brother's satisfaction. So he left, begrudgingly, to prepare himself for the feast at sundown with the high-and-mighty Starks. He dressed himself in crimson silk, high black boots, and a satin cloak colored black. On the breast of his tunic was the lion of House Lannister, embroidered in gold as it stood on its hind legs and roared. Jaime may be of the Kingsguard but he was a Lannister first and sometimes wearing that gold armor and white cloak all day was bothersome. Besides, he doubted anyone would touch Robert today nor during their entire stay of Winterfell. Nobody was just that foolish.

Walking down the grey halls of Winterfell was depressing, and even more so when he realized he had no idea what to do with all this idle time. Sundown was close, just not quick enough, and nobody was around to distract him. It was usually Tyrion and Cersei that molded in the distraction role perfectly but now he had neither one. Tyrion was with his whores and Cersei preparing herself and her lion cubs for the feast. And Nesta? Well, he's more than sure the girl is still prancing around the castle with that cousin of hers. There's an off chance that she might've finally come up air, but Jaime isn't one to look so desperate even in his boredom.

"Ser Jaime?" They say if you think about a person long enough, they'll suddenly appear. Stopping in the middle of the hall, he turned around to face the Little Kraken, donned in her plain wool cotehardie trimmed with white fox fur on the neckline for the evening. She isn't allowed to wear Greyjoy colors for she's a political prisoner and cannot bear any ounce of allegiance to her House, not even through clothes. So it's colored a deep black that makes her look more pale than she already is, and her hair is done up in a half-up braided crown. Around her neck are the pearls she caught when she was so restless and snuck herself on fishermen's boats, using their nets to gather oysters. _"I paid the iron price for them,"_ he remembered her saying because he had been afraid she stole from Cersei. Why did she think it necessary to look so pretty for the Starks anyway? "Are you on your way to the Great Hall?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"As if I have a choice," Jaime answered. "There's nothing to do in this place. I might as well attend the festivities early."

Nesta nodded, understanding what he meant. "I was on my way to the godswoods." Confused, Jaime began to fix himself to ask why she would care about some old, creepy gods that wanted their devout fools talking to strange faced trees. The only reason why he didn't ask was because she offered to explain herself without him having to say a word. "I hear it's a pretty sight. The weirwood, that is."

"It's just a tree that a madman carved a face onto. What's so pretty about that, Nesta?" Her frown made him smile, all because he knew she's annoyed with him now. It's fun as it is easy to get under her skin.

"You're impossible to talk to, you know that?" With a sneer, Nesta gathered her skirts and aimed to walk past him and towards the godswood. He followed anyway, mostly because he had nothing else to do and he would rather die than be alone with the Starks. She must've known she wouldn't be free of him for she slowed down her antsy stride and allowed him to catch up with her in reasonable distance. "Did you hear how Lord Robb Stark tried to kiss my hand?"

"I didn't hear it, I _saw_ it." Nesta peered over her shoulder, a look of surprise on her face. "The Wolf Pup was none too pleased to be rejected."

"You're the one that taught me not to trust men who ask to kiss my hand," mumbled the Greyjoy, almost as if she was chastising him for teaching her what Jaime thought to be a valuable lesson.

Jaime should've known that somehow this would come to be his fault, according to her, that is. She likes to blame him for everything that goes wrong because it's easy to blame someone else other than herself. Do ironborn hate to take responsibility or should he give her the benefit of the doubt for only being five-and-ten? "I wasn't wrong and neither do I take it back. I just thought you'd be quicker to warm to the Starks since it appears they've kept your cousin well under their care."

"I want to," Nesta replied, sounding somewhat hesitant. It's rare for her not to be sure about something, her emotions in particular. He always enjoyed how raw she was since Jaime is used to everyone lying despite him being guilty of doing the same. "I want to like them because Theon loves them, especially that Robb Stark. He says he's like a brother to him." There's more to it, apparently, and Jaime is curious as to what. It's strange, the emotion that has swept over her, and Jaime can't recall if he has ever seen this side to her before. "I'm… I'm envious of Robb Stark that knows Theon more than I do now. I'm envious that Theon looks to Lord Stark like a father. Theon has found a family in all of this and what about me? I'm pretending to like that fat man I have to call 'Your Grace' and Joffrey threatens me daily. I'm surrounded by people that have harmed my family and the court whispers about me as if I can't hear their gross fascination or their disgust of me being ironborn."

She stilled, almost as if she had just realized she just broke the dam of all the things she should've kept to herself. Nesta doesn't confide in him, she used Tyrion for things of that nature because she doesn't trust him like she trusts his little brother. She must've been so overwhelmed to have found the ease to dangerously run her mouth. In a way, he's glad. Jaime has been wrong about some things, more specifically about her relationship with Robert. It appears she hasn't let go of her grudge and hates Robert and Jaime's own family. She hates everyone that has ties in separating her from her ironborn. Tyrion just seems like exception, and it leaves Jaime to wonder how it is she truly felt about him as well. Does she hate him? He had no parts in that rebellion, but his father did.

The halls are still empty although Jaime doubted they will be for long. From his peripherals, the windows revealed that the sun is nearly set. The time she had wanted to spend in the godswood is now limited unless she doesn't mind being late. Jaime doesn't give a damn about tardiness, but Nesta followed rules better than he did a good quarter of the time. "I shouldn't have said any of that," she practically mumbled.

"You shouldn't have," Jaime warned in jest. "I'm a Lannister myself, you know."

"As if I could _ever_ forget," Nesta spat, though not out of genuine malice. She just enjoyed to mock him. "The Lion, they call you to your face, and when your back is turned you're the Kingslayer."

Not once has Nesta ever asked him about why they call him that, he realized. He assumed it was because she hadn't cared enough about him to ask what many people loved to condemn him for. "I'm sure you've said plenty about me behind my back, too."

"What can I say behind your back that I would not say to your face?" Riled, Nesta spun to look at him with her eyebrows bowed deep. "I'm not afraid of you, Jaime."

"You should be." The corner of his mouth twitched until he finally let it settle into a smirk. "I'm one of the deadliest swordsmen alive." And he was damn proud of it. He was taught by the best and so it was only natural that he became the very best.

He knew she wouldn't take his words seriously. Jaime hadn't expected her to. "The deadliest swordsman that took a little girl out to the sea when she begged him to. Why am I to fear that man?" Her voice didn't match her expression. And Jaime, well, he was a bit taken back. That day Tyrion offered her some sense of freedom, someone had called for him and Jaime was left alone with that girl of seven who was afraid he'd take her back to the Maidenvault. _"Please, please don't take me back just yet! Let me at least see the sea. Let me tell the Drowned God my prayers! Please, Ser Jaime. I promise to be good, I swear!"_

Why would she remember something silly like that? Why would he remember that, either? He could still vividly see her glee-bearing face as she kicked off her shoes, stuck her toes in the sand, and her hands lifting her skirts up to her knees as she waded into the water. She prayed, she laughed, she cried, and she thanked him. Jaime is so rarely given thanks, but he hardly does things to warrant such gratitude in the first place.

Seemingly done with this conversation or probably reaching her limit with him for the day, Nesta spun on her heels and practically stomped down of what Jaime felt like an endless hall.

 **NESTA**

She had just finished her second cup of summerwine and she already felt due for another. All the smoke in the air from the roasted meat and bread was making her eyes watery, almost to the point she could hardly see much of anything. All she could grasp was that Theon was sitting to her left and Robb Stark across from them as they sat beneath the platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the King and Queen. Actually, not so much of the King, at least anymore. He had meandered his way to the center of the Great Hall to have his open fun with the barmaid that had no care in the world that they were disrespecting their queen. Robert was a fool, a drunken fool, but Nesta liked the way he pissed off his queen wife. She had no love for Cersei and enjoyed to see her anger and shattered dignity lightly pinched on her beautiful face.

Living in the Red Keep was more often that not hellish. The Queen was so open with her dislike for her that Nesta could never recall a time where she had felt anything but animosity towards the woman. They spent more time apart than they did together, and yet every time a situation called for them to be in the same room, Nesta always left furious and her pride hanging on by a weak thread. The woman's words, always spoken twistedly sweet, had the impact of a heavy fist to the gut. She always made it well-known of her distaste whenever Joffrey was remotely near Nesta, which had never been of the girl's choosing. Joffrey always enjoyed belittling her whether it be by calling her names, speaking ill of the ironborn or reminding her of how his uncle destroyed her father's fleet. It used to make her eyes well up until Nesta learned that in order to survive, she could not cry in front of her enemies.

"Are you betrothed, Nesta?" Theon's sudden question took her by surprise.

"I…" Having calmed from the surprise, she let out a sigh. "I almost was," Nesta answered him, forcing herself to give the tiniest of smiles. She truly wanted to frown yet her pride refused to show how hurt she had been about the man she had hoped she could've married.

"Oh?" Her cousin rose a brow, an inquisitive look in his eyes as he reached over to take a roasted onion dipped in gravy. She grimaced once the smell of it wafted in her nostrils and she nearly stuck out of her tongue once he took a solid bite and a loud crunch could be heard. She hated onions. Always did. "Who was the man?" he questioned while his mouth was full.

Her fingers tapped against the wine cup, her eyes tearing away from him to gaze absently at practically nothing in particular. "Ser Garlan, knight and second son of the Lord Mace of House Tyrell of Highgarden." She kept her voice leveled, not giving away the disappointment she still felt when Garlan informed her that the king wouldn't allow him to have her hand. Highgarden was an escape she had dreamt of everyday when Garlan showed interest and it had been taken from her. Snatched right out of her hopeful hands.

"What happened? Why didn't the King accept or was it Lord Tyrell that intervened?" Robb, intrigued, had tried to slip himself into the conversation. Apparently the rejection she gave him earlier wasn't enough to put some distance between them. Nesta did feel bad about it, only slightly. She was just doing what had been a key part of her survival. She didn't know Robb Stark and while Theon had only good things to say, he was still a man and she was wary of all men except Tyrion. She could trust him wholeheartedly.

What else could she say, really? That Lord Tywin Lannister shut it down immediately? That Robert didn't care about the match, so long as it had Tywin's approval? The Tyrells were not loyal to the Lannisters and anything that provided a worthy adversary through a union that directly involved her could not be condoned. "I'm not quite sure, really." It was a half-truth. Garlan had told her Tywin Lannister had a hand in Robert's refusal, but if it was because he was afraid of Highgarden having the Redwyne fleet along with the Iron fleet was something she figured out on her own.

"I hope you didn't love him," Theon was trying his best to be comforting. "Your father wouldn't have approved that match either. A flower man for his ironborn? He'd jump into the sea before he agreed." She believed him, even if he was wrong about Garlan. Garlan was strong and brave, and he fought just as harsh as the ironborn. He never fought for glory, he fought because he wanted to always be prepared for actual battle and he was exceptional with a sword.

"I didn't," she replied. It was true. She did not love Garlan. She could have, though. She wanted to. She _almost_ did. "But I suppose if I married him, I wouldn't have had the chance to come see you." Her cousin smiled at her words and she didn't feel happy about his happiness over the subject. Bitter feelings aside, she'd do well to get over it and prepare herself for the day Tywin chose a man he found suitable.

"It's a shame that you don't have a choice in the matter," Robb's words were kind, she knew, but she hated being pitied. He was pitying her, of that she was certain. "I'm to be lucky enough to choose my own wife."

Envy was a strong thing, and it would not stop hitting her shores. Robb Stark had Theon and now she learned he also had the possibility to freely choose who he wanted to marry? It was hard for her to stomach someone having everything she could possibly want. Robb had a loving and whole family, an easy inheritance all because he was fucking born first and true, and then he has a piece of her Theon that had been taken from for nine years? She _hated_ him. She didn't want to but Drowned God, it was difficult. Perhaps she was just being childish. It was natural for Theon to grow close to someone other than her… but see it? To so much as feel it, too? It was driving her up the wall.

Nesta quickly swiped a passing flagon, filling her cup to the brim so she could drown out her jealousy and hatred towards a person who wasn't truly deserving of it. If she was drunk, she couldn't think and if she couldn't think, she couldn't hate Robb. Theon loved him and she wanted to love him, too. For the love of the Drowned God, she was mess right now.

She downed the wine, head tilted far back as she made sure not to waste a single drip. She could hear Theon's startled gasp and when she slammed the cup down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she receives the look she quickly expected he'd give her. "Seven hells, Nessie, are you trying to get yourself soused to the eyeballs? This is your third cup!"

"I'm no light drinker, if that's what you're worried about. I can bloody outdrink the king," she boastfully proclaimed. "What? Afraid a girl can swill more pints than you, Theon?"

That expression was far too familiar, and it made her feel warm upon the sight of it. That fierce competitive look in his eyes that he would get from any challenge that presented itself. Theon could never stand the thought of losing, and it often got them in trouble as children. "You sure you want to play this game, Nessie? You may be able to out drink the king, but you can't out drink me."

"It's a dangerous game," Robb threw in his two coins. Nesta glared at him from the corner of her eyes, her lips fixing to tell him to _"piss off"_ but choosing not to on the cuff. "Theon is a talented drinker."

"So?" Nesta replied with a huff. "He just hasn't met his match yet is all. Besides if you think drinking is so dangerous then I must say I worry for you, Stark. Us ironers show our real might through a game of finger dance."

Half-offended and half-curious, Robb straightened up in his seat. Nesta had to suppress a laugh as his eyes had gone gelid. "What's the finger dance?"

"A bit of fun that requires throwin' an axe or leaping yourself over it. You could lose a finger or a whole hand if you're not careful enough," Theon roughly explained as he smirked behind his wine cup. Greyjoy pride was oozing out of him as he recalled the game they've seen so many grown men play as children. "I've never gotten the chance to play it. All I heard all my youth was that my father is one of the best at it." People always used to praise how Balon could best any man at the finger dance since the young age of three-and-ten. It left Nesta to wonder if the old man still had the skill for it.

"Want to play a game of it now?" playfully suggested Nesta, causing her cousin to nearly choke on his swig of wine.

"I'm not playin' that with you!" Protective as ever, she found herself rolling her eyes and taking another swill to calm her rousing ire. "You know the costs. Remember when Uncle Aeron told us what happened to Uncle Urri?" Nesta clenched her teeth, suddenly recalling Aeron's retelling of the sad event of a young lord who died at four-and-ten from playing the finger dance game.

"I remember," mumbled Nesta. "It still eats away at Uncle Aeron.."

Robb, lost on what exactly they were talking about, kept looking between them both with his hand holding his cup by the rims. "What happened to your Uncle Urri?"

"He died from an infection," Theon explained, his voice somewhat low. "My uncles were playing and Uncle Urri lost half his hand and it wasn't treated well."

"Why even play such a game that dangerous?" Robb questioned, not understanding the sense of it all.

"Because Greyjoys harbor no fear," Nesta looked Robb in the eyes, pressing on the conviction of her words. "We live our lives without it. We're freer than you greenlanders will ever be in that way."

"Nessie is true to the iron ways, you see." Her cousin wrapped his lanky arm around her shoulder, reeling her in close so that they were cheek-to-cheek. She peered up at him with a half-smile, feeling somewhat sheepish under his praise. Nesta would forever be ironborn. She would live her life valuing the Old Ways as she was taught as a child. No Lannister, no Baratheon or any other man nor woman alive could change that. "Now about who can drink more and what not." With a cheeky grin, Theon began to fill her cup and Nesta grinned ecstatically as the contest began.

"Watch me play and win this dangerous game, Stark." Raising her cup in the air, Nesta downed her fourth cup of summerwine.

 **ROBB**

He should've believed her.

The girl said she could outdrink the king, and she surely did outdrink Theon, who was passed out drunk and had to be taken away through the help of a servant or two. Meanwhile, Robb took it upon himself to escort Nesta back to her guest-chambers since he knew that's what Theon would've wanted. It also didn't help that he felt responsible for all of this as well. He did undermine her skill by taking her words lightly. He egged her on thus making her feel the need to outrageously prove herself, and so it was only fair he'd take care of her.

She's struggling to keep her balance, legs going the opposite of where she should be going. They're not doing exactly what she's apparently trying to will them to, and neither are her hands or fingers. They kept clutching at him to either get a steel-grip to keep her up or attempt to push him away. Left and right she would sway, and he was starting to get dizzy from just trying to keep up with her. Robb was only a little bit buzzed himself and being in such a state wasn't working well with him to stop this girl from slipping out of his grasp and onto the stone floor.

"Don't needs you to watch me like I'm two, Stark." Her words are slurring yet she still has a bite.

As if he wasn't before, Robb was now completely sure that he hadn't imagined what happened earlier. His assessment had been right; Nesta Greyjoy doesn't like him for some reason or another. "Never said I was watching you, Nesta. I'm only here to help." As if that really meant anything to the likes of her. Stubborn and mean, this Greyjoy girl is.

Lurch. Stumble. Stride.

Gods, he's afraid she's going to fall flat on her face. His hands gripped much more tightly onto her arm, trying to keep her remaining upright and close. Her eyes casted him a sharp glare at his hold and she attempted to wriggle herself from out of his grasp. "Don't be touchin' me! Get your wolf hands off."

"I'll let you go once I see you to your chambers," Robb argued. How in Seven hells was he going to get her up the stairs like this anyway? He was barely able to make it through the hallway with her. It hardly makes any sense how he has a much easier time taking Arya and Rickon to their beds than her and they were children. Well, in Robb's eyes, Nesta is still somewhat of a child. He's practically a man-grown compared to the likes of her. She's a lady-child, if anything.

Nesta almost took him down with her when she almost tripped over her own foot. With quick reflexes, he grounded his feet to keep the both of them standing, but she ended up practically heading face first into his chest in the process. He could've made this a whole lot easier by throwing her over his shoulder or just simply carrying her in his arms, but his own distaste for how she kept continuously talking and treating him is abstaining him from doing so. If she doesn't like him, that's fine. He doesn't have to like her either.

Taking a deep breath, Robb tried to expel all his frustrations out in a single, heavy sigh. "You can dislike me all you want but make this less difficult for me, will you?"

With a groan, Nesta tilted her head back to look up at him. Her eyes flashed with the contempt she harbored for him since this morning. Stupidly, he's much too distracted by the blush blooming across her face to care. Even while drunk and angry, he can openly admit to himself that she's still pretty; stubborn, annoying, drunk yet pretty. "I hate you." There's a depth to their confession that felt exactly like drowning. It was as if a kraken had taken hold of his ankle in the open sea and dragged him down to a dark abyss. "I hate you, Robb Stark." Maybe he'd get some answers. Drunk men (well, women in this case) tell no lies, he's learned.

"What have I done to make you hate me?" Vexed, confused, and tipsy. Robb could feel the heat of his own anger surging under his skin. "I haven't done anything wrong and if I had, why won't you explain it to me? I think I'm owed an explanation."

Her eyes are hooded-lazily, a drunk haze over them as she continued to hold his gaze. Nesta looked as if was going to say something, her mouth opening and closing although no words would leave them. Robb waited, expectantly, wondering if he was going to get to the bottom of this girl's apparent and fast brewed hatred for him. Unfortunately, all Robb was given was chunks of opaque chyme that came propelling out of her mouth and right onto his tunic. His instinct was to keep holding her up despite his mind screaming to let her go. He'd knew she fall if he did and while he may have been annoyed with her, the better part of his mind considered that course of action to be wrong.

She hadn't stopped. She kept on with the retching, the vomiting, and so on for what felt like a good twenty minutes. The smell was gods-awful and Robb felt entirely uncomfortable and sick himself. For certain, he was going to throw this tunic straight into the fire when he immediately got the chance.

"—ink'd you." She isn't making sense, which doesn't seem all that far-fetched considering she's drunk.

Robb slowly blinked. "What?" he bothered to ask like a fool. At this point, why should he even care what she has to say?

"You greenlanders call us Greyjoy squids because of our sigil," she explained, looking delirious as ever. She's going to black out if she keeps on with this. _She's lost it,_ Robb thought. _She's truly gone drunkenly mad._ "I ink'd you, like a squid!" Now she's laughing. _Laughing_ , of all things. And it was like the ripples he's all too familiar with after skipping stones in the dark pool of the godswood. It radiated outward and through the empty, quiet hall so that it could be the only sound that filled it. Robb mouth twitched, head slowly shaking in utter disbelief. Soon he fell into a titter and their ripples of laughter joined together, becoming a great nonsensical wave.

* * *

 **A/N** : In case anyone is confused about ages... Nesta is fifteen going on sixteen. Robb is seventeen going on eighteen. Theon is nineteen. Jaime is thirty-five. Just to make that all clear.

Also, please don't expect a weekly update. This is probably one of the few times I'll be doing this.

Lastly, I have NOT forgotten about Jon. He's going to get his shine on in the next chapter. Nesta has not forgotten he wasn't at the feast.

jd: Thank you! I see Jaime has gotten the first score.

Lakomadt: Thank you! And there goes one for Robb!

Rayna Silverstone: Thank you! c: We need more Greyjoy females, I agree. What you just told me is "I want you to create a love triangle that will surely devastate everyone in its wake c:" But I agree. There's so much to come out of that, and to be fair... I'm subconsciously leaning towards that.

Wombat8: Its you! c: Oh yeaaaah, I'm glad I reeled you in. Don't worry about Hour of the Stag, though because I'm working on this. I'm still on board with that story, but because I have so much going on for it, updates are bound to be slow. I'm glad you're liking this and curious about Nesta lot in this life... It's going to be a thoroughly enjoyable mess. ( oh most definitely, theon's reaction to seeing his cousin/little sister and his best friend/foster brother together is definitely one for the books ) - You'll be seeing a lot more of that. I can't believe I made these two Lannister brothers practically raise a Greyjoy kid. That was not my intention but it's too late to go back.


	3. Tension

**JAIME**

"Tell me, Tyrion, have you slept at all last night?" Jaime knew very well that his little brother hadn't slept much, if not at all. Scattered around these chambers he temporarily occupied were books; some were bound with leather and others having their pages cracked and dry due to age. Tomes of various sizes along with scrolls so brittle that a mere touch might turn them into dust were on any surface available, even the floor. Candles were all over in the same random manner, the wicks of them having melted down from all night usage. It wasn't a rare occurrence for Tyrion to hole himself up somewhere and read for hours on end. How he managed to do so without going insane? Jaime had no clue. All he knew was that while Tyrion was the brains of the family, he was the brawn and he would rather keep it that way. You would never find his nose buried in any sort of book unless forced and rarely was he ever forced to read since knighthood.

Plopping himself down onto the nearest chair, Jaime propped both hands behind his head and began leaning on the back of the chair legs. His feet were then placed atop of the table, ankles crossed to further his comfort. "I don't have to answer that, do I? I think my face should say it all." Bleary-eyed, Tyrion continuously nursed his first cup of water, grimacing after each sip for it was wine he truly had a taste for.

"I don't recall anyone telling you to spend the entire night reading," Jaime arched a brow at Tyrion's halfhearted glower. "You did this to yourself."

"I'm quite aware of that, Jaime," he mumbled from behind his cup. "Thanks for the reminding me." Tyrion opted to place his cup down, but once he noticed there was no space, he looked at Jaime and made a shooing motion with hands to order him to put his feet down. Jaime, rather reluctantly, had brought his feet back down onto the floor and sighed all while doing so. "Have you received any ravens from father?" asked Tyrion as he stretched his arm to place his cup down where Jaime's feet had been moments ago.

"No," Jaime answered somewhat warily, his curiosity suddenly on the rise as to why he was being asked that. "Why?"

His brother slightly tilted his head, eyes swirling with confusion. "I suppose father thinks it's me and me alone that watches over our little Greyjoy."

Jaime's mouth immediately ran dry, his stomach turning in an unfriendly way. His mind begged to question why their father suddenly grew curious about Nesta. Although Jaime knew the day would come, he had to wonder if it was because their father finally found her a match of his choosing or he was up to something else. No one could read the mind of Tywin Lannister, especially not his own children. He's blindsided them more than they can count. "You look after her more than I do, even more than Robert and she's his ward. If anyone hadn't known any better, one would believe Nesta is your ward than our king's."

Having agreed, Tyrion slowly nodded his head. "I suppose that's true."

"But why has he asked of her?" Straightening up his slump posture, Jaime quickly crossed his arms. He didn't want to show too much interest in the topic lest he let it become noticeable that he held some attachment to that girl.

"He's curious to know if she has bled yet," Tyrion said plainly. "As if _I_ would keep up with a girl's moonblood. That isn't something you up and ask a young girl or even at all unless you're afraid you made a terrible mistake." The last bit was spoken somewhat jokingly yet Jaime couldn't find any sliver of humor about this situation. If their father was agitated about Nesta becoming a woman then it was because he probably knew just where he wanted her to be and he must've wanted her there right away.

Jaime began to set his jaw, his green eyes slewing left to look at nothing in particular. "As far as I know she hasn't, but this _is_ Nesta," he emphasized. "If she did flower, she wouldn't tell anyone."

"I suspected that," agreed Tyrion. "She has until her six-and-ten nameday to keep up with that lie or else I fear our father will know he's being lied to." Their father wasn't just anyone and for Nesta to strike up any sort of rebellion by keeping such a thing from him would only hurt her in the end. The girl couldn't be that stupid, could she? As stubborn as she was, she was usually compliant to those she had no chance of winning against. Then again, she always proved unpredictable when she wanted to be.

"Two months," Tyrion's smile was a small one but warm nonetheless. "Two months until her nameday."

"Why do you remember that?" Jaime questioned, wondering if he should keep this to memory. He had trouble remembering anyone's nameday that wasn't his own (and Cersei's) or Tyrion's because he felt they were the only ones worth remembering. Why should Nesta's be of any value to him? Although which month and day it fell on escaped him, he could recall in great detail what happened during those days. Robert tended to be generous, Joffrey more insidious, Cersei more cold, Tyrion more paternal, and Jaime more unlike himself.

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders. "Nesta feels like my own child." He lifted his eyes from the mess splayed out on the table to meet Jaime's gaze. "I've nearly raised her, did I not?"

It was true in too many ways for him to outright combat it. His brother tended to that girl's every need and overindulged her regularly since he first met her. Tyrion was there anytime she called for him and when he was away, he sent her gifts and ravens. Even in the letters meant for Jaime, he asked of her. Perhaps it was because if he and Tysha hadn't been denied their happiness, they might've had a child the very same age as Nesta; a child with black of hair, similar to Nesta's, but maybe with eyes of green like a Lannister. A flash of anger he felt towards himself protected him from the pain that was properly named regret. He'll never be free of it. _Never_. Not as long as he lived. Not as long as Jaime watched day by day how that young girl's absence and false betrayal turned his brother into the person he was today.

"Who do you think he'll marry her off to? There's no doubt in my mind he'll be a Lannister. I place my biggest bet on Lancel." He was the easiest choice. "She'll eat the poor lad alive and leave no bones." Jaime snorted, loudly, having shared the same thought. Their cousin had no backbone and if Nesta were to be his wife, she'd rule over him with an iron fist and nothing could be done about it. Surely their father should know that, but Jaime supposed Tywin wouldn't care. He would have the Iron Fleet regardless and that's all he really wanted. "There's always Martyn. He's much closer in age and much more…" Tyrion tried to look for the proper word, his brows drawing in close as he slightly squinted. " _Firm._ Yes, he's much more _firm_ than our dear Lancel. Tyrek may also be on our father's list as well."

Tyrion's words began to buzz around him like a fly he could not swat. The tension built up in him as the conversation continued and he was unable to shake it off. Jaime just couldn't find it within himself to _not_ want to care who their father will choose. "Does it matter?" he found himself asking, and he truly hadn't meant to say it so tersely. He gave too much away and now his brother would dissect it bit by bit.

Picking up on his clear aggravation, Tyrion slowly bowed his brows. "I was only asking," he stated. "There's no need to get so tense, Jaime."

"I'm _not_ tense," Jaime said without taking a breath. It was too quick, and now it was obviously seen as a lie.

"You _are_ tense," Tyrion pursued, "but I'll leave the matter alone." For now, Jaime surmised. Tyrion loved to argue and the fact that he dropped the subject so quickly was strange. Jaime gave him a leery look before deciding that it was best the conversation steered itself away from Nesta and their father. He already made the mistake of revealing how bothered he was, and it left him disappointed in himself for so easily losing his composure.

Silence, awkward and heavy, befell them and it felt utterly suffocating. Jaime had no one to blame but himself for allowing it to happen, but he would rather suffer the consequences. "It wouldn't kill you to accept that you care, Jaime. I know you like to pretend you don't care about anyone who isn't our sister and I." As he guessed, Tyrion was not ready to let the subject go.

"I don't." There was no real use in arguing for Tyrion already knew. "I don't care about anyone that isn't us."

"If you say so, Jaime." Tyrion pulled the book Jaime had been absently staring at towards him. "Since you don't care… I suppose you're not interested that Joffrey has requested she be at the tiltyard."

Confused and curious, Jaime's head fell in a slight cant. "The tiltyard?"

"Ah, so you haven't heard." His little brother didn't seem all too enthused with what he was about to say, "Joffrey insisted Nesta watch him spar against the Stark boy. Apparently, Nesta holds some affection for him."

"And just where did he get that idea?" It wasn't nowhere near surprising that Joffrey decided to pick on Nesta for the day. He did it frequently back in the Red Keep. Jaime, however, just could never find out the real reason for it. Was it because she was a girl and he thought her to be weak? Mayhaps because she was a Greyjoy and found her unfavorably as most people did. The reason just wouldn't make itself be known and there was no way Joffrey was going to explain himself to anyone.

But alas, to the topic at hand, what gave Joffrey the impression Nesta held little, if any, affection for the Wolf Pup? From what he remembered of their last conversation, Nesta loathed him yet she spent the night sitting across from him with her cousin. After their little drinking game, his attention was called elsewhere and he couldn't figure out if their relationship remained strained throughout the night. Cersei needed him after feeling humiliated before the Starks because of Robert's wandering eyes and hands. Why she let herself feel that way after all these years boggled Jaime's mind constantly. Robert would never love her, respect her or have a care of what others thought of his treatment towards her. To feel any sort of anger or crushed pride was like tilting a sword to her own neck.

Gathering himself to his feet, Jaime headed towards the door. "You're going to the tiltyard, aren't you?" Tyrion questioned and it doesn't take a genius to know there's a smile playing about his face.

"And what makes you think that?" he smirked, sparing but a short-lived glance over his shoulder.

"Because I know you. I know you better than you think I do." Jaime supposed he did. Tyrion knew just about everything except a few things, but even he had to question if Tyrion had known yet chose to remain ignorant. "Enlighten me about it later _if_ I'm still around for the night." _Again_. Tyrion would leave him alone with the Starks for a second time for the whores of winter town. "Oh, and let Tommen know that I am rooting for him and if he wins, I'll reward him."

 **NESTA**

Tourneys were somewhat of a guilty pleasure of hers. The extravagance left her apathetic but the fighting enraptured her attention like none other. Nesta could faintly remember the first tourney Robert forced her to attend because he loved them greatly and had them so often that she couldn't really remember one over the other. Tyrion would always sit next to her, explaining who was who without her having to ask. She learned many names, Houses, and faces because of him and it was a tourney that gave her the opportunity to meet Garlan. If she had chosen to sit that one out, she may have never met him and perhaps it was a mistake for them to cross paths. All she got out of it was disappointment that she had a hard time getting over.

Jousting wasn't really her favorite. Nesta hadn't considered it entertaining and found the whole thing to be an unworthy cause for death. It was the melee and archery segments that she loved the most. The melees reminded her of her father, who she sadly grew a hard time remembering due to the nine years spent away from him. What she could vividly call to mind was his brutish way of handling his axe. Sometimes her mind brought forth distorted memories of the way he swung the cruel weapon with such powerful swings, the way his feet were always planted firmly into the ground for he was always so sure-footed. The clash of blades over the sound of the roaring sea crashing against Pyke's shores was once like music to her ears. Now such music felt like a song she hadn't heard in so long that she could barely hum the melody.

But this spar, a mummer's farce of a melee tournament, was actually strangely interesting. Brandon Stark and Tommen Baratheon's bout—actually a drill if one is to be technical—was something to behold, if one asked Nesta. If one were to ask Theon, he would give them a raucous laugh, which was what he was doing right now. The little lord and the little prince were protected with so much padding that they resembled two fat pillows as they swung their equally padded swords of wood amateurishly. Nesta melted into a fit of giggles herself as she watched them waddle and stagger about and yet could not tear her eyes away from either one as they tried to outdo the other.

Robb Stark made it clear who he wished to win, yelling all sorts of words of encouragement to Brandon. Joffrey, however, watched his little brother with obvious disinterest. Tommen deserved the same loving support but Nesta couldn't find herself able to provide it. Although she cared for the boy some, her words would mean next to nothing to him compared to it coming from the mouths of family. At least the Lannister guards were vocal about their support for him. He had _something_ at the very least.

Speaking of families, Nesta's eyes roamed around the tiltyard and found that Jon Snow was nowhere in sight. He wasn't at the feast either, now that she thought about it—and she truly wished to remember nothing of last night. She expertly pretended that her memory was lost from all her drinking and that's why she could dignify herself to be seen, let alone be near or speak to Robb Stark. He tried to prod her mind about earlier, about if she could recall anything, and Nesta did her best in pretending that such memory was fogged.

Anyway, about the Snow boy, if she were to ask Theon where he was, she doubted her cousin would be delighted to give her an answer. From what she could tell, the two didn't very much care for one another despite how similar their circumstances were. Jon, although not trueborn, was an outsider to the Starks just like Theon was. One would assume such a thing would bond them than separate them but it is Robb that Theon grew attached himself to instead. Nesta leaned over and quickly poked the bicep of the eldest Stark with her pointer finger. "Robb," she called for his attention and he gave it with a surprised look on his face. "Where is Jon Snow?"

"Who cares," Theon so rudely interrupted. Nesta guessed he would. She just didn't expect for him to look at her so wryly as he did so. "Let him remain where he is," he said with contempt. "Don't trouble yourself with pity."

Was it pity? Nesta recoiled back into her seat, a bit stunned by his words. She was only curious yet she had to wonder if it had actually stemmed from pity. Robb gave Theon a hard look, one that revealed he was none too happy about what was said. Theon then rolled his eyes as if such a stare meant nothing. "Jon can't be here because he's a bastard," explained Robb. "Only trueborn swords can bruise a prince." Who made such a rule? _A miserable person_ , Nesta thought. People had made plenty of harsh rules for bastards yet none for the people that brought them into this world.

"That's stupid," she voiced her opinion that wasn't asked for.

"I know," Robb agreed, "but that's the way things are."

The drill had finally come to an end when Brandon managed to knock Tommen off his feet. The poor prince kept rolling like a pig in mud, unable to get himself to his feet because of the weight of his padded armor. Bran aimed to swing again, to give the decisive blow, but Winterfell's master-at-arms stopped the fight and declared the Stark as winner. "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?" asked Ser Rodrik. Nesta hoped the two wouldn't fight again. Joffrey was a poor swordsman and Robb fought like Ser Arthur Dayne compared to him. It did, however, please her to see Joffrey's face pinched in the same likeness as his mother when Robb gave him a difficult time. The Crown Prince blamed his loss on the lack of sun, the very star that happened to shine down on them quite frequently whenever a cloud or two finally passed.

Before Joffrey could answer, an unexpected visitor showed up. "I'd like to have a go, Robb Stark, _if_ you're willing."

Nesta hadn't realized she wore a smile until it fell at the sight of Jaime Lannister. What in the name of the Drowned God was he up to? "Ser Jaime?" Rodrik was surprised and stood at full height, his bearings indicating that he would rightly protect Robb. "He's only a boy, surely you'd like to bout someone of your experience."

The upward curvature of the knight's lips made her frown deeper and her eyes begin to narrow. "I've seen the boy in his last round with Joffrey and I'd like to give him a few pointers. Nothing serious. I don't expect a boy so green to so much as land one hit."

Robb's jaw had set and there was coldness in his eyes. Theon's brow rose curiously despite mirroring the very same mistrust and disdain that his best friend expressed. "I'll take on the _Kingslayer_ , Ser Rodrik." Nesta flinched as if she had been struck by the name he used. And Jaime, well, his cutting smile may have not faltered but there was something ferocious dancing across his emerald orbs.

Nesta had grabbed Robb's arm, mostly out of instinct. "Are you a fool?" She didn't expect him to answer that. She also didn't expect for him to remotely like that she had said it. "He's _Ser_ Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, Stark." As if reminding him who he was going up against meant anything compared to a young man's pride. "He'll have you on your backside in a heartbeat." Nesta never saw Jaime fight before, she only ever witnessed him training and even then she felt sorry for the straw soldier that he could tear apart without a single strand of hair out of place or a drop of sweat on his brow. She wouldn't wish any man to tangle with him. Not even her own worst enemy.

Robb yanked his arm from out of her grasp and Theon caught hold of her by the waist so that she didn't fall from the sudden jerk. Nesta slowly blinked as if to wonder if she was the fool for trying to stop him. "Robb is a strong sword," Theon dared to explain. "I'm sure he can handle himself against the Lannister." _He can't. He won't._ Nesta kept it to herself, though. It would only serve to make her look as if she cared more than she truly did if she fought for Robb to be of common sense.

Ser Rodrik looked back and forth between Jaime and Robb, clearly against this spar and trying to figure out a way to prevent it. "Are you sure, Robb?" he questioned, hoping to instill some sense into him before it was too late.

"I'm sure, Ser Rodrik." There was not one bit of hesitation in Robb's voice. He was definitely certain of his choice, like a fool.

Seeing as this was going to happen whether he liked it or not, Rodrik went over to prepare Robb for the spar while Jaime tauntingly eyed his gilded longsword as if to check its sharpness. Nesta felt a lump in her throat and she wasn't sure why she was so nervous. If something went wrong, Ned Stark would want Jaime's head and would be deserving of it. Another outcome was that Robb might surprise them all and beat Jaime, and who would willingly want to tend to his injuries for he was not loved by any of the men of the North.

Theon slipped his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. The feel of that familiar hand laced with hers had relaxed her some and she looked up at him to catch his brief yet assuring smile. That was all she needed to be calm again. That is until Rodrik called for the fight to begin.

It was Jaime that charged first, his smile still on his face. It was just like him to desire the first hit. He brought his sword over his head for a downward strike and due to the power behind it, Robb sunk hard to his knees as he was barely able to block it. Robb didn't stay down long enough, having struggled to get himself off the ground and push away Jaime's sword. He then aimed to knock Jaime back with a quick slash yet he didn't expect for the knight to so easily catch his blade, like he anticipated the style of attack. Nesta followed Jaime's every move, mainly because she thought she could keep the speed of him but he became a fast blur of red and gold.

A brutal thwack landed on Robb's exposed flank and she outwardly grimaced as if she was the one struck. "If this were a real battle," said Jaime, "you would've had a bleeding lung, Stark."

Robb was lasting much longer than probably everyone expected, considering how young he was. Nesta was starting to think that Jaime was holding back, simply playing around because he wanted to wound the boy's confidence than he wanted to outright win. Her thoughts were further proven when Robb managed to dodge him although none of his attacks were sticking or slowing Jaime down fast enough. He did well, ducking in time to miss the vicious overhead strike that Jaime dangerously had done. The spectators had gasped when Jaime's sword crashed into the dirt after not expecting Robb to dodge so swiftly. Because he was left vulnerable and swordless, Robb leveled his sword at the back of Jaime's head and grinned triumphantly.

He was wrong to think he had won. Jaime twisted back and grabbed the base of Robb's sword, pulled him forward, caught his arm, let out something akin to a roar, and had hauled him over his broad shoulder and laid him square on his back with a bone-jarring thud. And as Robb laid there, Jaime pointed the sharp end of his blade just inches above his pale throat. "Did you truly think you had me there, Stark? Just what is Ser Rodrik teaching you pups?"

Nesta didn't know when she had let go of Theon's hand or how she ran so fast. All she knew was that she somehow found herself kneeling next to Robb. "Stark, are you alright?" The words left her in a hurry. She tucked her hand under Robb's head to help lift him from the ground. Just that slight movement alone had him wincing and Nesta did not doubt that his back wracked with a sharp pain and there was ringing in his ears.

"I'm fine," Robb hastily said. She knew he was lying, it was too obvious. Her eyes slowly rose to look up at Jaime, who was basically scowling. Nesta couldn't really read his face or understand why he was angry with her out of all people at the moment, but she hadn't cared. She decided to devote her attention to Robb and help him on his feet. He stumbled for a bit until he could right himself before he reluctantly turned to Jaime. She could tell it was going to be hard for him to speak any praise, but he was the honorable sort after all. "It was a good spar, Ser Jaime."

"Oh, we're back to _Ser_ Jaime?" He was still sore from Robb's earlier choice of words. "Was I not the Kingslayer a moment ago?" His expression became impassive and he tilted his head back as if he were looking down at them. "I will say that you show promise, Stark. In a few years, I just _might_ find you to be a worthy opponent."

Theon then made his way over, asking Robb a series of questions about his condition. Robb braved through any pain he was suffering through, trying his best to pretend that what he had been dealt with was something small, like a mere scratch. "You ought to see the maester," Theon suggested, seeing right through his act.

Robb tried to wave his hand in friendly dismissal, instead it fled to the side that Jaime had hit in the earlier bit of the spar. "I said I'm fine." He was a stubborn lad but Nesta could admire his sense of pride. She might've acted the same—no, she definitely would've been the same. There was no going around it.

"Theon is right. You should go see the maester, Stark. Nobody who matters deems you weak." His eyes met hers and she gave him a minuscule smile. She may have still harbored hatred and jealousy towards him, but she didn't wish him harm. Nesta was not that cruel towards him. After all, Robb wasn't a bad person and she was more than grateful that he escorted her to her chambers without once taking advantage of her drunken state. Honorable and kind, this young lord is.

He returned her smile with a small one of his own and gave a quick nod. "All right, I'll go." Theon then brought Robb's arm over his shoulder, helping him walk towards the castle and eventually towards the rookery by shouldering most of the weight.

Now she was left alone with Jaime—not exactly alone, Joffrey was still around along with the Hound and the Lannister guards laughing and taunting. The corner of her eyes caught sight of Joffrey's smug face, her ears listened to his snide comments and laughter of how Robb lost the spar. That didn't matter to her, however. What mattered was that Jaime was wrong. He knew he was too greatly skilled to be dueling a boy of seven-and-ten as if he were someone of Lord Stark's caliber. "You had no right to fight him like that, Jaime." Nesta may not be a woman yet, but age would not stop her from scolding the knight for his childish behavior.

"And who are you to say what I have a right to do? What right do you have to judge me?" Jaime questioned, his sword already sheathed so that he could cross his arms. The glare he conjured up sucked something out of Nesta. "I suppose it is true." She visibly wilted from how briskly he spoke.

"What's true?" Nesta asked, completely ignoring the very accurate fact that she had no right to question him or judge him.

It was uncomfortable how his eyes never left her face. Jaime devoured her every feature, becoming more and more unlikely to give her an answer. _Why?_ Nesta wanted to ask him. Why was he so angry with her when he was the one in the wrong? "You did well, Uncle." Nesta nearly rolled her eyes as Joffrey sauntered over, his smirk still etched on his face. For a moment, she thought his smirk to be very similar to Jaime's. "Robb Stark was in over his head for thinking he could take on a Lannister."

 _He took you on just fine and you lost, Joff!_ Nesta said in her mind, knowing if she had been vocal with it, Joffrey wouldn't leave her alone. "Besotted with Robb Stark, are you, Nesta?" Joffrey interrogated her, and she had a feeling he would. She just didn't think it would be over if she had fancied Robb or not.

"Besotted?" she echoed, her brows knitted to unveil her confusion. "How can I be besotted with someone I barely know?" To be fair, how could she hate someone she barely knew? Hate and love weren't too far off from one another; both were intense emotions that could be felt upon first meeting. "He's a good lad," Nesta made clear. "Better than most men I know."

The prince didn't seem to like what she was clearly insinuating. He raised his sword, pointing its sharp end at the column of her neck. "Yes, I suppose you would think so. Didn't Stark take you to your bed last night?" The sharp tip lightly grazed her skin, trailing down to the first of the many ties of her black, leather doublet. It was almost as if he meant to cut it. Not once did she lower her head, she kept it high with a stony glare carved into her dark eyes. Rage was blurring her sight, but she tightened her jaw and decided to prove that his actions nor his words could shake her. "Did you spread your legs for him? Did you let him have a taste of a sea cunt?" Jaime grabbed the sword, his gloves providing protection so that the blade was unable to cut his skin, and roughly shoved it away.

"That's enough, Joffrey." There was a bite to Jaime's voice. The look on his face conveyed pure annoyance. Disgust, too.

"I was only asking her a question," Joffrey scoffed. "Isn't that was the ironborn do? They force any and everyone to warm their bed because gods forbid someone would go willingly."

Nesta forced the corners of her lips to rise, putting on that smile that got under the prince's skin since he knew how false it was. Even now there was no softness in Joffrey's eyes as he sneered at the expression she wore. "Tis' a good thing you're not any and everyone, my prince." With a bow of her head, she dismissed herself and turned to take her leave. Only then did she smile for real when she heard Joffrey question Jaime what her words had meant.

 **JON**

It had been some time since he last took a swim in one of the hotsprings. Rarely did Jon have the time to slip away as of late due to time spent ruminating if going to the Wall was the best decision. It was the only decision, if he wanted to be honest with himself. Staying in Winterfell was no longer a viable option anymore. How was he to continue to live here with his father, sisters, and Bran gone? Lady Stark would be twice as difficult and honestly, Jon couldn't really fault her for it. Winterfell would be practically empty of their family aside from him, Rickon and Robb, and so his face and presence would be more frequent and more overwhelming for her. She did her best to put up with him for this long, so how could anyone ask her to stand him for longer?

The shift in temperature became drastic. The cold northern winds that he was accustomed to no longer gave him nips that bit at any exposed skin for the air was thrice as warm here. Beads of sweat were gathering on his brow and he had to occasionally wipe them away with his sleeve. Once he stood at the brink of the spring of his choosing, he aimed to undress but stopped himself from almost undoing his cloak when his eyes caught clothes laying atop of a craggy rock. His brows furrowed at first, his head somewhat tilting as he tried to figure out who they belonged to. They seemed too small to be Robb's and there was no kraken insignia to match Theon's doublet. They were also too large to belong to a child. So who could they belong to?

Bubbles began to rise to the water's calm and misty surface before a head breached it. Jon stumbled back, eyes growing wide as a pair of hands quickly wiped water away from the large eyes of Nesta Greyjoy. The water rippled around her as she eased herself up to her chest as she broke the silence of the grove with her panting. She must've spent a long time underwater to have needed so much air. After gaining her breath, she blinked a few times to adjust her sight before she finally took notice of him.

Grey eyes met warm pools of dark brown.

"Jon Snow?" Nesta wanted to clarify, her head falling in a inquisitive cant.

"A-Aye," Jon cleared his throat, feeling stupid for having stuttered like a little boy. A little boy who had seen something he shouldn't have seen to be exact. "I hadn't meant…"

"I'm not naked." It hadn't made him feel entirely better, but at least the situation wasn't as compromising as he nearly thought it was. "Did you want to take a swim, too?" Still mortified, still frozen to his spot, Jon felt unsure of how to answer her. It was a simple yes or no question and yet he felt as if she asked him something impossible. " _Ah_ ," she said as if she had a sudden realization, "this must be uncomfortable for you."

 _Must be?_ It was utterly uncomfortable. The true question should be why this was not uncomfortable for her? She may have not been completely naked but she must be with little clothing. Her doublet and breeches laid on a rock, completely unattended, so she must only be in her… He swallowed thickly. This girl was swimming in her small clothes. "Is it not uncomfortable for you, my—" No, she was _not_ a lady. She told him that before. "Nesta?" Saying her name felt so strange to him, though. There was no familiarity between them and usually it was stations that separated him from most women he knew.

"No, it's not." Was it because she was raised in the south that she was so carefree? Mayhaps it was because she was ironborn that she had not an ounce of care for propriety. Theon had no sense of decorum a good half of the time. Because it wasn't necessarily right, Jon tried to not judge her based on Theon's personality. The two of them seemed very alike yet very different from what he observed.

Her strokes were fluid, like a sea creature in its natural element as she swam about. "I've stayed for too long," he began to say.

"Stay," she softly exhorted. "I want you to stay. I don't want to be disturbed by anyone." Nesta stopped swimming, her eyes peering over her shoulder to glance up at him. "You will do that for me, won't you?"

They stared at one another for what felt like several minutes. "If you want," he practically murmured, his face feeling like it was on fire and his head almost as hazy the steam that rose from the springs. His eyes searched for the closest rock to take a seat on and he quickly ambled to the one with a comfortable and even surface.

What in Seven hells was he doing? All he wanted was a dip in the spring and somehow he ended up watching a young girl taking a swim with hardly any clothes on. Most men would consider this a dream come true, wouldn't they? And yet it felt like a borderline nightmare for him. "Robb told me why you didn't come to the spar earlier." She was in a rather talkative mood. Why? He barely spoke and yet she felt that he was good enough to engage in conversation with. "It's not right. The reason, I mean."

"What can be done?" A question with no real answer. "It's the way of things."

"I know." She stopped swimming and instead kept herself floating in the middle of the spring. "It makes me wonder how things would have been for me if I weren't lucky enough to be given the Greyjoy name." Somewhat at a loss at what she meant, Jon was gearing to ask what she was trying to say until she decided to explain; "I'm a natural daughter," admitted Nesta, looking out at nothing in particular. "I was born Nesta Pyke. My mother was a salt wife."

She was a bastard then? He hadn't expected that. Neither did he think Theon could hold any sort of love for bastards considering how he always enjoyed to bring up Jon's bastardy status. "You were legitimized?" She must've if she now had her family's name.

"My Uncle Balon knew my father would never have himself a rock wife. My father's first salt wife had several stillborns and she died giving birth to the sixth one. I came as a surprise and my uncle thought I might be my father's only child and it was only fair to give me the Greyjoy name for I'd be his only heir."

"He gave you the Greyjoy name? Not the king?" It was the king who legitimized bastards, not a lord. If Balon wanted to do it the right way, he'd tell her father to go to Robert and request it. Perhaps he did when Robert breached Pyke and took the girl as his ward.

"King Robert acknowledged me as a Greyjoy as well." Jon found himself envious. He never met a bastard turned legitimate in his life until now. Things would have been a thousand times better had his father done the same. Sometimes he wondered why and other times he tried to rationalize that there must've been a wise reason why he didn't. Was it because of Lady Stark? Maybe. Was there another reason? Most likely. His father always had his reasons for why he did anything.

He tried not to look at her but his eyes skimmed over her creamy features; soft lips, the long graceful lines of her neck, and well-endowed breasts that were barely covered by the breastband she wore. Jon tore his eyes from her, quick to pinpoint a spot in the trees and focus there. He should've never decided to stay. "You're still not going to swim?" she inquired.

"No," he answered with urgency. "I'm fine where I am."

"You're _sweating_." Nesta looked at him strangely and Jon supposed she had every right. He hadn't even noticed that sweat was running down his face and neck like rivers due to the hot air around them. Jon was so distracted by her and their conversation, he completely ignored that he was overheating. He mostly had faulted such a reaction for being so close to a half-dressed girl, but it was truly the springs that had him about to sweat himself to death.

"I'm fine," Jon insisted despite how unbearably uncomfortable he was starting to feel in all these heavy layers of clothes.

Nesta sunk down in the foggy waters, which did little to hide the fact that she was smirking. She swam up to him, right at the bank, giving him a closer view of how her wet hair fringed around her face and stuck to her cheeks. A stain of black curled around the corner of her lips, making the smirk she wore much more devious. Arching a brow, he watched as she raised one skinny arm and then splashed him with water.

He was too shocked to say anything. Jon had clambered to his feet, quickly wiping away the water that mixed with his sweat from off his face. Her laughter sounded as deadly as a siren's as she swam away from the bank. "What was that for?"

"To cleanse you of sweat," Nesta teased. "Don't you feel better?"

His eyes squinted ruefully and he fought the twitch of his lips that dared to conjure up a smile. He was not going to be sucked into her trap. "I'll leave you here on your own if you keep that up." A hooked smile fought its way through as he saw her eyes become as big as pewter plates.

"You wouldn't…" He honestly wouldn't. It was just fun to see her look so frightened over the possibility that he very much could.

To make it worse, he took a step back and he watched her body tremble in fear. "What was that?" He pretended as if he heard someone coming to the spring. "I believe someone is on their way here."

"Jon Snow!" she shouted in panic and so he took two more steps back. He halfway turned, looking very much as if he were going to leave her completely. "Don't you leave me here!"

Quickly, she swam her way to the bank and lifted herself from out of the water. His face flushed pink as he spun around completely, not trying to catch sight of her barely clothed form. He heard the rustling of clothes that gave away that she was stumbling around to put them on. "Shit!" she cursed under her breath as she soon hopped around in front of him as she poorly attempted to tie her boots. Jon's mouth trembled from trying to swallow his laughter as he saw her doing her best to keep balance.

Her dark eyes then frantically scanned around the place, wondering if someone nearing them until it finally dawned on her that he had lied. "You… You _fucker_!" Jon couldn't hold his laughter in anymore, drawing the back of his hand over mouth to try to muffle the sound. The wet-haired girl had slapped his shoulder repeatedly, though her eyes weren't warped with anger. Soon enough, her eyes crinkled mirthfully at the corners. "I'll get my revenge, Jon Snow, just you wait!"

 **CERSEI**

"The pomegranate is such a messy fruit," Cersei watched her brother close the door to her chambers, his arm resting on the hilt of his longsword as per usual. He was dressed in his Kingsguard armor, perfectly polished and unscuffed; a beautiful gold that reminded one of something out the tales told and read to children. Tales she once loved as a child and now came to loathe after seeing for herself that the world was nothing like those silly, little stories. "Though they are nearly not as messy as you, Jaime." Her brow arched as she graced her palate with a red and succulent seed.

"Messy?" Jaime echoed, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "That's a new one."

"What were you thinking when you decided to spar Ned Stark's son?" He wasn't, clearly. If he was thinking then he wouldn't have stepped a foot in the tiltyard. Was it the thrill of a fight that enraptured her brother so much or did it have something to do with that squid of a girl? Nesta Greyjoy was a nuisance and not the loud kind that could easily be dealt with. She was the very kind of nuisance that got under your skin and stayed there because you had no idea of how to get rid of the feeling.

"I was _thinking_ it would be fun," he replied, still quite smug despite the hours that had gone. "And it was."

Cersei clamped her jaw shut, her eyes hardening to gift him a glare. "And what made you decide that fighting Ned's son would be fun?" Her hand reached for her untouched goblet of wine. It was still fun to her pleasure. The first swig was enough to calm her nerves some and only _some_.

"The boy was better than Joffrey at the sword." Jaime knew that such a truth would leave a bitter taste in her mouth. She took another taste of wine to wash it away. "I was curious to see how good he was and he isn't so bad. Still green, but better than our boy, sweet sister."

"It has nothing to do with Joffrey," Cersei narrowed her eyes, infuriated that he would use her son as an excuse for his simple-minded behavior. Lately Jaime was growing difficult to understand, his words and actions always left her feeling a bit hollow. She knew Jaime so well but for the past couple of years, he was becoming unpredictable. It had everything to do with that girl. Bad enough she managed to wrap their impish brother around her tentacles and now she was trying to do the same to Jaime. She killed a girl before for Jaime and nothing could stop her from doing it again. "It has everything do with the Greyjoy girl, doesn't it?"

Jaime's smirk fell, like it had been wiped away as soon as the name left her mouth. "You think I'd spar with a boy for her? A girl of five-and-ten?" Her age made her all the more desirable, didn't it? Many men wanted soft and supple girls who weren't fully realized women. The younger they were, the more men wanted them. Cersei was no fool. All of Robert's whores were half Cersei's age and younger. He never thought to touch a woman who tasted of thirty and over except for her. "No need for you to be so jealous over a child, Cersei."

"You should be flogged for insinuating that I'd ever feel jealous of an ironborn girl," she nearly spat. "She should be married already and sent away. I grow tired of seeing her prowling around the Keep as if she owns the place and it's Tyrion's fault as to why she thinks she can do as she wants and go as she pleases." Jaime rolled his eyes, furthering proving he was irate about her words. It was easy to see he cared for her and that grated Cersei's nerves twice as much. It already vexed her to know Jofrrey had a fascination with the girl, but at least it was nothing like Jaime's.

She could not lose grasp on her hold on either of them. Cersei's couldn't grasp her husband, and so she had the comfort of always knowing Jaime was hers and Joffrey was still somewhat under her thumb. Nesta would not have them in no shape and form as long as Cersei still breathed. "You'd do well not to test me, Jaime."

"I'm not testing you," he argued back, either pretending he had no idea of what she meant or actually proving she may have over thought a few things. Even so, one is never not thinking enough. It's because people thought less that they ended up losing. "You're the only woman I want." He neared her, his hands coming to claim her face so that head was tilted up to look at him. "You're the only woman I ever wanted, Cersei."

His gaze was steady, his words were said truly, and yet all Cersei could feel was uncertainty.

* * *

 **A/N** : Most would say Jon probably wouldn't be so friendly, but I think that her being a bastard kind of puts things in a difficult perspective. Also, I'm an advocate for happy Jon Snow, so let me have that.

So, according to the first episode of S7, Jaime was there to breach Pyke? I highly, highly, highly doubt Ned would be so happy to fight alongside Jaime with Robert and there's no mention of him being there at all. The only Kingsguard mentioned was Ser Barristan. Also, they changed plenty of things by not mentioning that it was Stannis that destroyed the Iron Fleet after Euron's successful plan burned the Lannister fleet. Also, the Iron Fleet is the third greatest, so I dunno why it's stated as being _the greatest_. The Redwyne fleet is insanely larger and then its the Royal Fleet of the crownlands. I dunno what the frick frack they're going with that, but I'm not following it. It's already bad enough for me that Euron is without an eyepatch, there's no Victarion or Aeron, and Euron looks like he's about to go to an MCR concert. The ships are beautiful, though.

And wow, I never knew Jaime was this popular but it is fun to write him. ;]


	4. And There's A Storm You're Starting Now

**NESTA**

She doesn't like to wake at dawn.

The dawn brought about the beginnings of a new day, and along with it came old memories. To avoid them, Nesta would lie awake at night until the hours were much too late and the sky was pitch black. When it was time to open her eyes again, sunlight will have filled the sky; pure light scattering and the hue of the yellow sun illuminating each crevice of land. It was better than the sky emblazoned with an array of deep colors, and an orange sun newly rising from the horizon. Dawn was once for the girl of seven, who used to wake with excitement in her heart to see her father and harbored far too much energy to spend it on the likes of sleeping. Dawn wasn't for the girl of fifteen unless she wanted to open again old wounds with memories best left forgotten. But today, Nesta must wake at dawn and endure the pain it shepherds. After all, she had promised Theon she would see him off.

The king desired a taste of wild boar for the last feast. On the morrow, they would ride south back to King's Landing with the new the Hand and three of his wolf pups in tow. It wasn't all that surprising, considering Robert had a love for hunting and was more than likely bored out of his currently sober mind to continue to sit idly around. The North wasn't as frivolous with their coins and didn't throw tourneys left and right like they do in the South. Their coins were spent wisely, or so Robb explained to her when she asked when was the last time the North had a tourney. They had to think of wool, velvets, furs and food; a tourney, whilst fun, would not keep them warm and fed once Winter was upon them. Counting their wealth was a strong means of survival and for that, Nesta could understand why tourneys in the North were so rare.

Nesta was bereft to leave the furs, to climb out of bed, to open the shutters and let the soft new light spill over her room, but she does. She does it slowly, groggily, and fighting away remnants of the dawns from years ago. Her clothes had been laid at the end of the bed, organized because she took proper care of that before she fell asleep. Over her smallclothes, she would slip on her favorite doublet that was black and woolen with gold tentacle fastenings. She may have not been able to have the kraken of House Greyjoy emblazoned on her clothes nor wear the colors like Theon was luckily allowed, but she always did her best to find some way to bend the rules. Her breeches were quilted but not made so heavy, and her cloak was a cloth-of-gold. It was clear where all her coins were usually spent on and she would sorely think afterwards of how she never paid the iron price for any of it but the gold.

After brushing out all of the tangles she could find, Nesta gathered her long hair and twisted it into a knot behind her head. She didn't have the patience to braid it. There was no one to truly impress today anyway, but she suspected that the feast was when she should have a care for the style of her hair. After all, she wanted Theon's last sight of her to be memorable because only the Drowned God knows when she'll ever see get to see him again.

Quickly, she left her chambers and hurried down the hallways of the guest apartments. Two of the three knights that rode with the King to Winterfell were lingering around. The decision of who would stay behind in the castle to watch over the Queen and her children was likely already made. She wondered if Jaime would tag along with the Ned Stark and Robert, but some part of her knew better than to think he would do so willingly. Nesta had often enjoyed the fact that Jaime was never happy when forced to go hunting. It always humored her to hear him curse under his breath and how his eyes would often roll into the back of his head whenever Robert said something he found to be either stupid or simply unfunny. Still, she had hoped that neither Ser Meryn Trant nor Ser Boros Blount would stay. Nesta couldn't stand either one of them and she knew they felt the same about her.

The dust motes that Nesta had upset in the lancet beam of dawn's light glittered faintly in a head of golden hair. It took her by surprise that Jaime Lannister stood in the middle of the hallway, golden as the sun itself. She shouldn't think himself so bright—to be fair, he's literally the brightest thing in this grey and dark hall—and yet there he stood, burning like the sun on a hot afternoon than the chilly warmth that was the current dawn. No matter how she felt about him, there was no denying that Jaime was by all means golden; golden hair, golden armor, golden skin that was kissed by a golden sun. He shined, brightly, from appearance alone. The only thing not-so golden about him were the things that left that mouth of his. Lannisters were said to shit gold, not speak it; she can't really fault him for lacking a golden tongue.

He was peering out of the window that faced the courtyard, looking every bit as bored as he usually did. Such a look often left Nesta to wonder if there was anything that could actually entertain Jaime other than training or Tyrion's quick wit. "Eager, aren't you?" His voice interrupted the silence around them and the odd curiosities that were her thoughts. Jaime had noticed her just as she noticed him, unfortunately. She would've been much happier to have slipped by, but some things just did not go her way.

"Eager for what? I have been made to stay behind," she said through gritted teeth. Nesta was still sore about Robert's decision.

He would be right, if she had been allowed to go. Hunting was the only time she was ever allowed the chance to have a bow in her hands. She was barely ten when Robert first invited her to one of his hunting excursions. He didn't do it out the kindness of his heart, she later learned. He only did it to spite both Joffrey and Cersei for wearing down on his nerves and to show his affections could easily go to anyone at any given time. Nesta had no care about being used, she was only glad to be free of the septa and the Maidenvault for a time.

She also learned at that age that it didn't matter if she was but a slip of a girl. She was a Greyjoy, and Greyjoys were never to be trusted under any circumstances. They watched her, the king's knights and sworn swords, day in and day out like a shark tails its prey. Nesta knew most of the men loyal to the king thought her foolish enough to attempt to nock an arrow and aim it at him during such trips. It didn't matter if Robert still had the strength to kill her all on his own or that he was flanked with his Kingsguard. Ironborn were considered bold and impossible to tame, ever raging like the sea itself, and never of sound mind to consider the dire consequences of any of their actions. Although Nesta proved them wrong, their eyes still never left her. Their suspicions only lessened once she forced herself to give some veneer of love for Robert for all to see.

"You're not going, are you?" asked Nesta, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"Gods, no." He really did sound happy to be skipping out on this hunt. "Why?" he asked, actually bemused. "Do you wish me there or would you rather I stay in Winterfell to keep you company?"

Nesta turned to the closest window, espying what had taken hold of Jaime's attention minutes prior. The courtyard was full, busy with all the preparations for the hunt and for departure tomorrow. She would have to hurry soon, she realized once she saw Robb and Theon heading towards the stables. "Matters not to me if you stay or go. I don't need your company," Nesta replied matter-of-factly. "Neither do I desire it." If she wanted company, Nesta could spend her time with the ever blushing and ever sullen Jon Snow. It was a pity that he refused or probably wasn't allowed—she didn't know and he wouldn't say—to go hunting with his father and Robb.

"Had I been the Wolf Pup," Jaime drawled, "the answer would be different, wouldn't it?" Nesta's eyes slowly began to narrow upon the Lannister's strange insinuation. "You went from hating Stark to enjoying his company within the span of a few days," he said. "I never thought you to be so fickle, Nesta."

Fickle? He called her _fickle_. Nesta's mouth opened and closed uselessly as she floundered for something to say. It proved difficult to think straight after the rush of anger that coursed through her veins. "I had every right to feel of how I felt towards Robb Stark," she found the words to defend herself. "It doesn't make sense for me keep blaming him for things that aren't his fault." Robb was not to blame for the envy she felt over him and Theon having grown to be close as blood brothers. Neither was he at fault for being born first and true. Robb was kind, he only ever showed her respect, and all she had ever been towards him was unreasonably rude and petty.

The silence that settled between her and Jaime was unexpected and because she had expected a swift retort, Nesta thought it only right to chance a glance at him now. The corners of his lips twitched, revealing that he could not decide on whether he wanted to smirk or frown. Jaime's sharp smile always came naturally, so why was he struggling with it over what she had said? "He can't help you escape." Her heart faltered, if only for a moment. "Just like Garlan Tyrell couldn't help you, neither can Robb Stark."

How did he know about Garlan? Should it even come as a surprise to her that he did? What could anyone possibly keep secret in King's Landing? Still, she hated how all her efforts to keep what transpired between her and the Tyrell knight a secret had been for nothing. But that hadn't really mattered for there was truth in what Jaime Lannister had said, even if he was wrong about most of it. She simply did not warm to Robb because she found a new means to escape. "I can dream," she settled to say. It was a weak argument, Nesta knew that, but it was the only one she had.

"Your dream is to spend the rest of your days in this wasteland with the wolves?" Nesta wasn't sure why Jaime as well as Joffrey persistently thought that she had fallen—or become besotted as the Baratheon prince claimed—for Robb. Did she behave in a way to suggest she did? Was it because she flushed red when he tried to bring up her drunken behavior at the tiltyard? Robb was handsome, of two Great Houses, two years her elder, and the heir to Winterfell. He was also the future Warden of the North, too. All those things did paint a very pretty picture, now that she thought about it. But because he was and would have all those things, he was never meant for the likes of Nesta. Nesta was a Greyjoy, a hostage parading as a ward. Deluding herself with the idea of having him was like trying to reach up in the heavens and grabbing the moon at night.

Nesta tilted the corners of her lips by a fraction and said, "Better here than to spend it in the lion's den you call the Red Keep." Their eyes soon met, the both of them using their peripherals to size the other up.

"And here I thought you warmed to the likes of us," he japed.

"When you say things like that, Ser Jaime, I'll have to assume you care." Jaime was the first to look away, snorting as he did so. Nesta sooner turned away from the window and moseyed on by him, seeing as he had nothing more to say. She found his submission to silence oddly comforting. She didn't need a reply, a confirmation on whether he cared or not. Nesta was fine with looking at everything at a surface level, she did not need to know the depth of it.

It hadn't taken much time to reach the courtyard to Nesta's surprise. They had only been in Winterfell for a matter of two weeks and some days, but she found herself able to navigate throughout the castle with ease. Either Theon taught her well when he gave her a tour or she had stupidly gotten used to the place, and for what? She would likely never step foot in the grey and granite castle ever again after today. "Almost didn't think you'd make it on time," Theon voice forced her out of her head, giving her focus to her surroundings that became a blur while she was lost in the sea of her thoughts.

Nesta blinked twice, clearing her vision, and tilted her head back to see Theon already mounted on his horse. His smile was a lopsided one as he peered down at her. "I promised and I don't break my promises, you know that," she said, wondering if he remembered such a silly thing about her. Nesta was stubborn; if she said she would do something, she intended to see it through until the very end. She never goes back on her word.

"Some promises are meant to be broken," Theon said, a sense of melancholy settling deep in-between his words and voice. His words left her feeling oddly sad but she kept such thoughts to herself. "I wouldn't hold it against you if you slept in. You have lessons with Septa Mordane, remember?" He was teasing her as well as reminding her that she unfortunately had to partake in a stitching session with the Stark sisters and Princess Myrcella.

 _What fun to be had_ , Nesta bitterly thought. The young Greyjoy was neither good nor terrible at sewing, but she found it so tedious. So _boring_. "Thanks for duly reminding me, sweet cousin of mine." Theon chuckled at her retort despite the fact that Nesta felt no amusement whatsoever. If there was one thing entirely different about him, it was that Theon found just about everything to be funny. It was almost as if he knew all the inside jokes of the world, and had no qualms at finding humor at the expense of other people's misfortune.

"It's a shame you can't come with us." Nesta looked left, somewhat surprised by the sudden arrival of Robb Stark. "I had hoped to see how you fare with a bow."

Tall and broad did the Stark heir look astride his black stallion. His armor and clothing, as well as the thick and heavy fur on his shoulders, made him look imposing despite his beardless jaw to remind her that he was still a boy. It hadn't changed the fact that he looked like some gallant warrior or some youthful king from the songs that had been spoon fed to her by the septas and bards alike in King's Landing. Her lips parted, only slightly, as her eyes soaked all of him in. She began with the riot of his auburn curls that seemed to glow under the sun's reddish-orange light to his thick eyebrows to his blue eyes that glinted like ice beneath a Winter's sun to his proud nose before stopping at his full lower lip.

Just the simple sight of him made an unfamiliar heat begin to warm Nesta's face. "Mayhaps the king didn't think it wise if I showed up Ned Stark's son," Nesta retorted, forcing herself to avert her gaze lest she remain stuck in her awe of him. She truly wanted to cringe at her choice of words, wondering why she came off so combative for no good reason.

Robb took no offense, though. He more than likely grew accustomed to her hot and cold actions and words towards him already. The corner of his lips had tilted upwards in what looked to be a knowing smirk. "I wouldn't mind being showed up by you, Nesta Greyjoy."

"Watch yourself, Stark." Theon's eyes narrowed into slits, showing how fiercely he meant his words.

"Why must he watch himself?" Nesta asked, unsure of what was the cause of Theon's sudden foul mood.

"He's flirting," her cousin replied bitterly.

"I wasn't _flirting_ ," Robb argued, his face was beginning to match the red of his hair. "How was any of what I said flirting?"

She didn't understand what neither one of them were going on about. And because she hated being out of the loop of things, she decided to get to the bottom of it. "Flirting?" Nesta echoed inquisitively. "What is that? Is it some northern thing?"

The both of them grew silent, casting aside their argument to wear their surprise on their faces. "You…" Robb's brows slowly furrowed as he asked, "You don't know what flirting is?"

"Should I?" She was beginning to feel like an idiot for not having the faintest idea of what 'flirting' was. Was it something most people knew? Do people practice it often? Is it a bad thing? From what she could gather solely based on Theon's reaction, she had to guess that it wasn't something most people should do.

"Don't worry about it," Theon said to her roughly. "It's a good thing you don't know."

Her bottom lip stuck out in a childish pout. She felt both intensely annoyed as well as curious of what flirting was and why Theon seemed adamant of her remaining ignorant about it. Just like when they were children, Theon liked to keep things from her. It was almost always because she was a girl or 'too young' to understand such things meant for those older than she. No matter, when Tyrion returned from the hunt, she would ask him of what such a word had meant. He likely knew. As far as Nesta was concerned, Tyrion Lannister knew just about everything.

Lord Stark and King Robert had already mounted their steeds, talking among each other quietly until Robert broke out in a fit of boisterous laughter. It seemed as though as they were more than ready to leave, the gates of Winterfell were open, the portcullis raised, and the commotion of unbridled excitement of the men grew louder by the passing minute. _I wish I were going_ , she rancorously thought before she caught a glimpse of Joffrey's smug face. _On second thought, perhaps it's a good thing I am meant to stay behind._ Nesta hoped that the crown prince didn't tick Robb off for a second time but then again, maybe he should. She would be more than delighted to hear the story of how Robb knocked Joffrey down another peg or two from his golden pedestal once more like he had done before in the tiltyard.

"I wish you good luck," softly said Nesta as she turned to look up at her cousin. Theon hadn't said anything, but his smile was more than enough. She then glanced at Robb, who was about to lead his horse towards the makings of the cavalcade. "And you too, Stark."

He hadn't expected good fortune coming from her, she supposed. The look on his face was of genuine surprise before it melted away and a dashing smile took its place. _I may have settled my feelings on whether I like you or not, Robb Stark,_ Nesta thought, averting her gaze because she hadn't enjoyed staring longer than she should. _But if there is one thing I am sure of, it's that I think your smile is a sight to behold._

 **JAIME**

 _"When you say things like that, Ser Jaime, I'll have to assume you care."_

Flashing eyes of green stared unseeingly at the other side of the room in muted darkness. Her words, a stir of echoes inside his head, had saturated his thoughts since she first spoke them. He mulled over them, trying to search within himself if there was truly some foolish part of him that actually cared for Nesta Greyjoy. There were a thousand and one reasons of why such a thing was terrible, if true, but the normalcy of growing used to an everyday face took some of the sting away. Tyrion seemed to think he had a care for her, quite adamantly too. Cersei picked up on it as well despite how Jaime loathed for her to think that his heart could possibly possess room for another woman that wasn't her. The people closest to him, that knew him greater than anyone else, had either saw something he didn't wish to acknowledge or was truly ignorant of.

Jaime never thought too much. He was always far too busy acting on the strongest of impulses that demanded action than critical thinking. He had been impetuous since he was a scrawny boy and before knighthood, but once in awhile he knew that stopping and using his head could save him than burden him. But what would he gain from it? From sitting here pondering if that iron woman-child had possibly seeped herself into him and made a permanent residence. And when did it begin and how could he make it end? He thought and thought and thought until the memory of the dark eyes of an iron girl of seven became a vivid vision in his mind's eye. He felt _something_ when he first met her and he had been actively avoiding whatever it is was out of fear. Should he take the time to understand it? To make sense of it? If scoured for the answer, would he be able to free himself from questioning any of this later on?

Regret was the driving force for most of his actions, Jaime came to understand. The regret for what he did to Tyrion made him love his little brother fiercer than before. The regret of not being able to protect Cersei from Robert one time too many made him obsessed with showing her every bit of his affection for her whenever he could. But what regret was there to be felt about Nesta? There was nothing he had done to warrant such a thing. When he stood in the halls of the Maidenvault and listened to her cries, he did nothing wrong. She was a stranger, a child, and how was he to know the ways of comforting her? It wasn't within his duty to do so and nor had he felt the desire to at the time.

When Jaime first saw her entering the halls of the Red Keep, what did he truly see? Was it what could've been Rhaenys Targaryen, a child he wished he had saved? If the little princess had lived, she would've been a political prisoner just as Nesta was. Unhappy, yes, a fine tool to be used whenever the opportunity should occur but alive; alive and not brutally murdered as she sadly had been. He never quite forgave himself for not saving her, Princess Elia, and Prince Aegon. Rhaegar's shade often visited him in his dreams, burning in cold light and whispering words that haunted him even when while wide awake. _"I left my wife and children in your hands,"_ he would say. _"I never thought he'd hurt them,"_ Jaime would reply. _"I was with the king…"_

So, in the end, was it guilt that made him care for her? No. Jaime couldn't reduce it to something as simple as that and that bothered him. It left him restless. It left him curious to figure out how deeply this all went. He would never be able to rid himself of the time consuming thoughts that plagued him whenever she was near or his mind brought her to the forefront. Even if he decided that today would be the day he would find the answer, he would be interrupted either way. The knock upon his door made him frown and sigh all at once. "Enter," he commanded with little enthusiasm.

The door opened and entered Cersei, looking every bit as troubled as she always did. He felt exhausted already and he didn't even know what it was that his sister came to see him for. "You sought me out?" Jaime sat up straight in his chair, eyes bearing their usual mischief that she both loved and hated.

"Only because I thought you'd remember what I said this morning," she replied coolly once the door was shut close behind them. She sauntered in, hands wringing; a tell tale sign she was paranoid. "Did you find a place for us to speak in privacy as I asked?"

He searched all morning for this supposed place of secrecy. Jaime had only been so quick to do so because he thought she wanted a secret rendezvous as they always done in both the Red Keep and plenty of times before in their childhood home of Casterly Rock. But from the looks of it, Cersei wasn't in the mood for intimacy and he hadn't enjoyed the mood he currently was in either to persuade her. "I did," he answered. "The broken tower seems to be the only place the Starks don't wander off to."

"Good." Cersei's smile was tight. She was pleased to hear that he had done what she wished swiftly. "Meet me there within an hour."

 **ARYA**

In some ways, she only had herself to blame. If she hadn't skipped out on the last lesson to watch the spar with Jon, Arya might've been able to convince her father of allowing her to go. Of course, she wouldn't have been able to hunt, but her lord father might've consented to letting her hawk. For a moment, he seemed almost willing as she pleaded but it all fell apart with one pointed look from her lady mother. Such a look destroyed any hint of approval her father might've spoken and the smile he gave her was an apologetic one. She was meant to suffer, to see to the very end of her punishment for the things she said to her septa. It wasn't that much of a big deal, to skip a lesson and give the woman a snarky response, but Arya knew the consequences of her actions had finally caught up to her and there was just no getting out of it.

Whether she skipped or not wasn't even the true issue. If she had went to lessons and did her duty, her mother still never would've softened to the very idea of Arya being anywhere near the wolfswood during such a time either. No matter what she did and didn't do, Arya was forced to be stuck here. In this hell of the room, pricking her fingers and stabbing the needle into the handkerchief she was supposed to be embroidering. She tried, at least. Arya was doing her best to sew an outline of Nymeria onto the cloth, but it looked like one grey blob the longer she was forced to look at it. This just wasn't her talent, why couldn't her mother understand that? She was no Sansa. Sansa was skilled in all the womanly arts.

Speaking of her sister, Sansa sat prettily with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel. They were doing what they usually did during lessons, which was gossiping. Most of their hushed conversations centered around that prick of a prince or the 'little shit' as Jon called him by the name of Joffrey Baratheon. Now that it was announced that he and Sansa were betrothed, it was all her only sister could ever bother to talk about. Arya learned to drown out the noise of his name by thinking of what she would rather be doing instead. It was better to get lost in her imagination than to listen to Sansa's soft sighs and stupid and outright nonsensical fantasies along with Septa Mordane's constant praises of Princess Myrcella's work. They weren't even that good, her stitches, but Arya knew all of the septa's fawning was founded on the fact that the princess' skill happened to be twice as better than Arya's own. It wasn't until she heard the sound of the door opening that Arya realized that this lesson just might be different than all the others.

For the first time, Nesta Greyjoy decided to join them and from the looks of it, she wasn't happy. Donned in breeches instead of skirts, Nesta entered the room with a face as blank as an unpainted canvas. The corner of Arya's lips twitched upwards at the sight of her before she slew her eyes of grey to soak in the septa's expression. Mordane appraised the Greyjoy's attire with utter disapproval and even sucked her teeth to give sound to her displeasure. "You're late," Mordane said in a steely voice. It wasn't that hard to tell that the woman thought unfavorably of Nesta because this was the first lesson she bothered to show up to. It almost might've not helped that the girl hailed from a House that most people didn't particularly think fondly of. Arya heard Jeyne and Sansa whispering about Nesta before, comparing her to Theon and all the bizarre and frightening stories of those ironborn.

Arya, herself, didn't know what to make of Nesta. She knew that she approved of the way the Greyjoy proudly wore breeches and rode on horses than sat daintily in carriages and fluttered around in gowns. She also watched the spar by choice and she even told off the likes of the Kingslayer for her brother Robb. That was all Arya knew of Nesta, and she never got the chance to actually know more about her and neither did she force the issue. "Forgive me for my tardiness, Septa Mordane," Nesta apologized rather monotonously. "I promised my cousin that I would see him before he left for the hunt."

Mordane said nothing else, she only hummed and inclined her head to the seat meant for the Greyjoy to take. Silently, Nesta crossed the threshold with slow but long strides, picking up an embroidery hoop, a needle, and a cloth along the way before she took to her seat. Arya rose a curious brow as the girl immediately began her work, face completely devoid of all emotion. She looked almost like one of Sansa's old porcelain dolls; pretty to look at, but you had to give them life in order to have any fun.

 _Seven hells,_ Arya inwardly cursed from having pricked her thumb a second time. She brought it to her mouth, sucking the blood and trying to salve the pain. If she pricked her finger again, Arya was more than tempted to throw it all down and sink herself further in the hole she already dug for herself. After all, her mother couldn't do anything else, could she? She would be leaving tomorrow, going south with Bran and Sansa and their father for King's Landing. Arya didn't mind being locked in her room the entire time until then just to save herself from all of this.

"May I see what you've done so far, Nesta?" Septa Mordane asked after a while. She lifted herself from her seat to see what the girl managed to get done thus far. Nesta stopped her sewing and lifted up the handkerchief for the woman to get a closer inspection. The Septa raised a curious brow, examining the work. "This is, well…" Arya wondered if the girl's stitches were as terrible as hers and Mordane was trying hard to search for some nice words if she knew any. "To be honest, I'm a little surprised."

"And why is that, Septa?" Nesta questioned, eyes full of unspoken accusations. Arya noticed that Sansa, Beth, Myrcella, and Jeyne quieted themselves to watch the exchange with wide eyes. All of them curious but not wanting to draw too much attention and make it obvious that they were eavesdropping.

"Well…" Flustered, Mordane seemed to be at a loss for words. "I only assumed—"

"You _assumed_ that I would be terrible because you can't imagine someone like me having any sort of skill of this nature?" Calm as a river, Nesta spoke plainly without any regard of whom she was speaking to.

The woman's face deepened another shade of red as Arya stifled a laugh. "T-That isn't what I mean…"

"That is what you mean." Shrugging her shoulders, the Greyjoy lowered the cloth and then continued on with her sewing with a strange nonchalance. "You'd do well to not judge someone before you properly get to know them, Septa." Her eyes then slew over in the direction of Jeyne, Sansa, and Beth. "I hope the three of you follow my advice as well."

Sansa quickly looked away, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Jeyne did her best not to sneer while Beth dipped her head shamefully, her curly auburn hair covering most of her face like a curtain. Arya's mouth was agape and she stared for a long while until Nesta's eyes then took notice of her. Unsure of what to say now that she managed to attract the Greyjoy's attention, Arya looked down at her terrible work before stealing a glance of the neat longbow and arrow Nesta managed to sew. "Are you good with a bow?" Arya decided to ask, unsure if the girl wanted to talk or not. She was given a look of surprise and eventually a small smile.

"I wouldn't say I'm good," Nesta answered, her eyes returning to her stitches. "But I can hit a target."

After that, conversation came easy to them. Arya learned a few more things about the Greyjoy girl and what life had been like in King's Landing. She had spared her a fair bit of details, for Nesta thought that some things were worth experiencing than forming an opinion based on what others made of it. Nesta, to her surprise, was much more open-minded than she thought she would be. Theon was much more stubborn, set in his ways and narrowed minded about a lot of things. It was strange to even think they were related, first cousins at that. But Arya had trouble withholding her excitement whenever topics of riding, archery, and even what material felt best for breeches came up. The Septa tried to quiet them often, but nothing could stop the two of them from falling in a fit of laughter as Nesta failed in guessing what it was that Arya attempted to sew.

For the first time in what Arya felt like forever, stitching lessons didn't feel like a prison sentence. She laughed, she enjoyed another's company, and she didn't feel so much as an outcast. It felt good to meet another girl who shared her interests, even if it wasn't by a lot. But all smiles had died and all the laughter fell to grim silence when all the direwolves of Winterfell began to howl.

 **ROBB**

The night fell upon them like a velvet blanket of black, swallowing up the day, draining the colors of the North's grey skies. It was befitting, painting the dismal setting and mood of his home of Winterfell as the direwolves sung their sorrowful song due to his little brother's fall. Robb couldn't sleep and it wasn't because of the howling, but because he was afraid that if he closed his eyes and entered the realm of sleep, he'll wake up to the news that Bran died in his deep slumber. Robb couldn't imagine no greater pain than to fall asleep with the expectation that his little brother would live just to wake to find out he had been horribly wrong. That was frightening than anything else he could possibly imagine.

Because his bedchambers stifled him, Robb sought desperately for peace in the godswood. The Old Gods, he thought, would save Bran if he prayed long and hard enough. They may have not given _everything_ that Robb always wanted, but they had been good to him and his family up until now. They watched over them, protecting them from the worst of tragedies that usually befell his father's siblings and others. It wasn't until now that Robb took notice of how lucky his family had been until the southerners infiltrated their home. The South had always brought the Starks misfortune, he couldn't help but moodily think.

Robb knew it was wrong to place the blame on anyone else for this devastation. What happened was all due to the negligence of his family for allowing Bran to keep scaling towers and walls despite the obvious danger. It always proved difficult to discourage him from doing what he loved and now because of it, they might lose him forever. Robb's mind became nothing but a snowstorm of memories of his inattention to tell Bran to stop climbing at every opportunity he had. It made him squeeze his eyes shut, breathing through sharp inhales of disgust with himself as he tried to press away the memories that made his temples pound.

He buried his face into his hands as he sat on the moss-covered stone, not having a care about the scenery that usually brought him calm. He couldn't find himself to care how the moonlight streamed through the pale, white branches of the heart tree or how its silvery light burnished his pale skin. He couldn't find himself to care about the gentle calling of the night birds, how they sat high in the branches above them and ruffled their small wings while shifting their claws. All the things Robb used to marvel at in the mystical nights of the godswood were lost to him. The beauty of everything—everything that thrived with life—seemed to burn into ashes in both his heart and head.

"Robb?" A gentle feminine voice called out to him, forcing him to jerk his head from out of his hands. He hadn't expected her to be here. To be fair, he didn't expect for anyone to find him here. He thought to pray—or rather do as his half-brother always does and brood—in silence. But strangely enough, out of all people, Nesta happened upon him for he doubted she intentionally sought him out. The moonlight lit her pale face, her eyes searching as they looked at him, and her lips pressed together in a thin line. She neither smiled nor frowned, but he could see there was something swirling in those dark eyes of hers.

He cleared his throat, feeling utterly uncomfortable. "What are you doing out here?" Robb asked. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"The wolves make it difficult," she answered him, her voice low as it was soothing. "But Theon was worried about you. He said he couldn't find you."

A bitter taste filled his mouth as he tore his eyes away from her. "I didn't want to be found."

The sound of her light footsteps made him stiffen, mostly because she was approaching him instead of leaving as he thought she would. Nesta said nothing, not tossing back a vicious retort as he assumed she would due to what he said. Up until she took a seat next to him, only a hand's width of distance between them on the stone they now shared, she was silent. He took only a second before looking back at her. Her eyes were transfixed on the velvety darkness outstretched above them that held thousands of glimmering stars, an utmost perfect canvas of scattered diamonds that shone with an intense brightness.

"What happened to Bran isn't your fault," she soon told him in a quiet voice. Her eyes were still roving from one edge of the sky to the other, completely at awe by sight over their heads. "It's the fault of no one." He blinked, surprised that out of all things, she was actually trying to comfort him. She was never quite warm to him since they first met and Robb wasn't entirely sure as to why. The South was known to be vicious, so he convinced himself that her guarded behavior was due to the life she might've lived in the southern country. It was an excuse, on his part, because he just couldn't imagine anyone hating him without a valid reason. He never gave her one as far as he was concerned.

"It is my fault," Robb countered gruffly. "Bran climbs all the time and just because he hasn't fallen until now, that doesn't mean I was right to assume he never would."

"They say the things we love tend to harm us." Nesta lowered her gaze from the skies to look down at her hands that she rested atop of her lap. "I'm sure that no matter how many times you chose to lecture your brother about climbing, he would've done it anyway. He simply would've waited until your back was turned."

It was true and Robb was more than certain of it. Their mother and father told him plenty of times to stop and Bran kept on. Blaming himself for not being vocal about it enough didn't make sense when Robb knew more than anyone how determined his little brother always was since he learned how to walk. They all had it, that streak of Stark stubbornness. "I still can't help but to feel that I'm to blame. I'm his older brother and I couldn't protect him." He looked down at the swaying blades of grass in the monochromatic light. The wind was colder now than it was this morning, he only took notice when it began to rifle his hair.

"Blaming yourself won't save your brother either and yet here you are," Nesta pointed out sternly. "You had no way of protecting him, Robb. You cannot be everywhere at once, you are only one man." She kept focus to her hands, mindlessly curling and uncurling her fingers as a means to entertain herself. "I can't understand how you feel, so I won't lie to you and say that I do. I'm an only child, my half-siblings all stillborn, and the only people that ever came close to a brother and a sister to me were my cousins. It's not the same so I cannot sit here and compare without feeling wrong."

It astounded him, how honest she was. Not once had she tried to sugarcoat things and she actually possessed a somewhat gentle way of giving him the truth. It was unlike her, completely abnormal, or so he thought. She was not at all the Nesta he came to barely know in the past few weeks he spent with her. It was as if she was an entirely different person unless… Unless at this very moment, Robb was truly meeting a side of her that she hardly shown to others due to her need for self-preservation. It left him curious to know more yet Robb knew that he should accept what he was given.

"Thank you," he expressed his gratitude wholeheartedly. "For being here, for talking to me, and for trying to convince me to not punish myself for things out of my control." She smoothed away her solemn air and adopted a smile. "I didn't expect any of this from you of all people."

Nesta's laughter rolled from her, likely finding humor in his genuine shock. "You're right," she said once her laugh died down. "I haven't been the kindest to you and it makes sense for you to find me consoling you anything but bizarre." She looked back to the sky to study the stars again. "I'm sorry for that, all of it. My behavior has been unnecessary and I'm not proud of any of it."

His shoulders soon relaxed. "Am I ever going to get an explanation for it?" asked Robb, a smile playing about his face. "Of why you treated me the way have up until now?"

"Don't test your luck, Stark." An impish delight swept over Nesta's face and he couldn't help but to chuckle. He should've known this was all too good to be true. "I've told you what I wanted. Don't ask for more."

They fell silent for long moments, each lost in thought and feeling content with each other's presence. Maybe he didn't need to hear an explanation. If she felt differently about him now then he should simply accept it. Why ruin it and recreate another misunderstanding if that was the true cause? "I don't know how long the king will let my father stay in Winterfell," Robb interrupted the quiet between them, "but I hope we can start over and become friends in the meantime, Nesta Greyjoy."

Robb let the silent moments pass, waiting for her to speak. "I should like that, Robb Stark." She didn't turn to him, but he supposed she had no reason to. Compelled by the atmosphere, calmed by her presence, Robb wondered what a friendship between himself and Nesta would come to be like.

 **NESTA**

Summer snow was beautiful.

Crystals of ice fell from the sky in a lazy dance, covering the ground like moondust. It was a shame, truly, that the beauty of such a weather came on the day she would finally leave Winterfell. Nesta admired it all with a glee that reminded her too much of a child, but she had been unable to contain herself. With her face flushed a rosy color, she eagerly sunk her hands into the snow and scooped the little that she could by the handfuls. Painful as it was delightful, she had learned firsthand that it wasn't wise to pick up snow with your bare hands. Her fingers and palms quickly began to numb from the freezing cold and Theon hadn't made her feel any better with his scary stories of the ever vicious frostbrite. From the fear of losing a finger or two, Nesta dumped the snow she gathered and slipped on her black leather gloves before trying it again.

Arya informed her that there wasn't enough snow to sculpt snowballs, but it hadn't stopped the young Stark girl from the snow assault. The two chased each other around, throwing clumps of snow at one another until Arya was forced to pack the remainder of her things and Nesta had to face the fact it was time to bid Theon farewell. After her mare was saddled and ready to be mounted, her cousin ambled his way towards her with lazy, hesitant steps and his smile borderline watery. "Nesta," Theon called her name, forcing her to turn and face him when it was the last thing she wanted to do. "This is it, isn't it?" he said with his arms limply at his sides, his eyes devouring just about every her bit of her face.

"I wish I could send you ravens." Her eyes were downcast, her voice beginning to catch so soon. There were tears she hadn't known she had been holding back now locked in her throat.

"I know," was all Theon could say. At least he didn't promise her anything, Nesta was grateful for that. If he promised to sneak in the Maester's rookery to write her letters, she would've believed him and likely grow to resent him if he didn't follow through. Theon was practical in that regard, at the very least. He was aware of his limitations and didn't try to stretch them for her sake.

"I hate that I don't know when we'll see each other again…" Nesta had let the words flow from her after a moment of silence. "Or if the world will be different if we ever do." What if the next time they saw each other, she was married? What if he was the one married by then and a father to a child or two? How different would they be and would they even recognize each other like they did now? But it didn't matter how much they would've grown by then, neither one of them would ever return to the place they once called home. Forever hostages was what they were; krakens without their islands.

This time, Theon was the one to throw his arms around her, hugging her tightly. Nesta stood there for half a second, surprised he at all initiated such an affectionate action, before she returned his hug with a hard squeeze. She enjoyed that he held her so tightly, almost to the point she could hardly breathe. It felt all too nice to know that he would miss her just as much as she would miss him. Theon had eventually let go of her after the long embrace, setting her back before staring long and hard at the ground.

"Be safe." He never had a way with words, her Theon, but Nesta knew that this was him trying his best.

"Be happy," Nesta said in return. There was a saying, if she could fully remember it, that all rivers lead back to the same ocean. She wanted to believe that no matter how many times she and Theon were forced apart, they could always find their way back to each other if fate should allow it. With a harsh sniff, Theon finally lifted his eyes from the ground and gave her that smirk she would more than miss.

The sudden sound of footsteps made her turn away from her cousin, her heart began to pound in her chest. Approaching them in long strides was Robb, snowflakes melting in his auburn hair. There was distance in his expression, a obvious disconnect, but he did try to smile as normally as he usually did as he came closer. But to Nesta, it looked forced, not genuine, and that almost made her feel concern.

"Stark," his name popped out of her mouth before she could think about it.

"Nesta." Her gaze dropped to her feet, and she wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so nervous. They became friends within only the two weeks out of the four and five days she had been here. It was all new and now distance would strain it, making it more than difficult to keep it intact. At least she could write to him, but what good were letters than talking face-to-face? She could never up and leave King's Landing to visit Winterfell whenever she wished to and now that he was the Lord of Winterfell, he couldn't ride for south. Friends by distance was such a strange concept to her that she didn't know what to make of it.

When she found the courage to peep up at his face to read his expression, Nesta wasn't sure what he found. His gaze was focused intently on her face, his brows drawn down. Was he… angry? He certainly looked like he was. "I suppose calling you Stark is a bit rude of me," she tried to lighten the air with jest. "You're _Lord_ Stark now, yes?" Lord Robb of House Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. It was easy to feel small now that he rose another station in life. At least when Ned Stark was still the Lord of Winterfell, she felt the ground was somewhat even between her and Robb despite her being a ward.

"Don't call me that," Robb replied with a half-smile, his hands waving to dismiss the title as if it were nothing. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it when all my life, that's what people called my father."

Long heartbeats passed, and Nesta could still feel his eyes on her. It was… awkward now. She didn't know what to say or what to do. A simple goodbye didn't feel so simple anymore. She licked her lips at his silence, shifting on her feet as she tried to think of what to say. Finally, Robb spoke again; "I know it isn't fair of me to ask this of you, but could you keep my sisters from killing one another?" Nesta snorted, knowing firsthand how the Stark sisters very rarely, if they ever, got along. "I don't think my father can handle the both of them while doing his duties as Hand."

"I can't promise you anything," Nesta began, a smile on her face, "but I'll try my best." Sansa would be no problem at all, of that Nesta knew. The eldest Stark girl was a lady through and through with impeccable manners and a gentle disposition. She was everything the miserable septas in King's Landing wished Nesta could be but more than proudly fought against. But truly, it was Arya that would prove to be quite the handful because she had the valorous heart that matched a young boy's. But she surmised it would be fun at the very least. The Red Keep made monsters of people and felt like hell some days, but Nesta was content with the thought that she would deal with the strife all around her with Arya as a good means of distraction.

Nesta quickly inspected the bridle to her horse before preparing herself to mount. She stiffened at the feel of hands at her waist to give her a quick lift. Robb helped her to her saddle without asking, leaving her bewildered that he took such an action. Her hands gripped tightly to the reins, her eyes as big as she could make them before she felt her face flush hot. "I didn't ask for your help, Stark." The words rushed out, no thought whatsoever behind them.

"I know," was his strange reply. A flash of something came over his face before a mask slipped itself on.

Drawing in a deep breath, Nesta purposely avoided his gaze and nudged her foot into the horse's side to urge it into a canter. Her mare swiftly made off towards the makings of the cavalcade, aligning herself at the rear of the wheelhouse. Any fancy to look back, she tried to quietly urge away. If Nesta met the eyes of Robb Stark once more, she would think foolish things. The very same foolish things that she thought once before with another man. _"He can't help you escape,"_ Jaime's voice splashed the currents of her thoughts. The truth wanted to drown her but she wouldn't allow it. She knew more than anyone else, more than Jaime Lannister, that to look at Robb as anything more were the ravings of a desperate prisoner.

The moors of Winterfell that looked as if they rolled on for miles reminded her of the happiness of freedom of when she first arrived. Now the romance of melancholy settled deep in her heart at the sight of them and she wasn't sure as to why. To dwell on such feelings was useless, but luckily she would be given as a distraction due to the horse that rode up next to her. Jon Snow had slowed down his steed, allowing himself to ride alongside her with a fair amount of distance between them. She smiled at his obvious nervousness, but she knew it wasn't because of her. It stemmed from the fact that she rode so close to the three knights of the Kingsguard and the queen's wheelhouse. Because she didn't want to irate Cersei with their conversation, she slowed her mare down until they were far from the woman's earshot and could speak comfortably.

"The Wall?" Nesta asked, already knowing the answer.

"The Wall," Jon said with a steadfastness that suited him.

"You're better than most of the Watchmen, Jon Snow." She wouldn't try to convince him to come South. Nesta couldn't possibly bother with an attempt when she knew what the court was like. He was a bastard by birth and by name, that alone would make it hellish for him. "Most of the men were dragged from dungeons; criminals of crimes that range from petty to brutal."

"They get the chance to atone for their sins," he reasoned. "It's better than death."

Only a man willing to atone for their sins should be given proper respect, not a man forced. She kept such a thought to herself, however. "You've committed no sins, so what's your reason?" At the very least, she would like to hear his reasons for going to the Wall.

"My sin was being born." Nesta frowned as his words, wondering how Jon Snow could ever fault himself for being born. It wasn't his fault. How could he ever choose to think that way?

"No baby is ever guilty of being born, Jon Snow." Those words, they weren't her own. Tyrion had said them to her once when she told him that she lost her mother the same manner he lost his. _"I'm going to say something I wish someone once told me, Nesta. No baby is ever guilty for being born. I may have not known your mother, but I'm certain she felt lucky to have you before her untimely death."_

"That may be true, but it's the child that carries the sin either way." His voice remained quiet despite how heavy his words were. "I'm lucky to have a father that chose to raise me, but I've been a burden to him long enough. At the Wall, I can be more than the stain in my father's honor."

 _Greenlanders,_ Nesta thought vehemently. _How can they stand to be so cruel to their young?_ The Iron Islands were not picture-perfect either when it came trueborn and baseborn children. While bastards could still inherit, they weren't as loved as they should be either.

"I haven't forgotten my revenge, Jon Snow." Nesta turned to face him, a grin creeping onto her face. "And now is the only time I can see it exact."

He didn't seem all that surprised that she hadn't forgotten the trick he pulled in the godswood. She had hoped for the element of surprise, but she would have to gain it by other means. Once a small lock of Jon's curly hair tumbled in front of his face, resting just in the front of his cheek, Nesta brushed it away with a swift slide of her thumb. As if he had ice in his bones, Jon Snow grew rigid and didn't dare to move at all.

Leaning forward, Nesta brushed her lips against his cheek with a featherlight peck. His skin warmed as though as he was sitting before a fire and his breath got caught in his throat. How many times had Jon Snow received a kiss? Surely not enough for him to react like this. She pulled away silently, mischief in its truest form in her eyes that she purposely kept locked with his. She couldn't understand the look in his pools of dark grey, but the sight of his face painted red made her erupt in a fit of laughter.

"You really are as pretty as a maid, Jon Snow." Honestly, Jon Snow was indeed a pretty man. How many girls could say they had the same beautiful curls? And even though he always looked so solemn with his long face, he could make any girl jealous just by standing next to them. He was truly his older brother's opposite in every way, almost to the point you had to wonder if they truly were the sons of the same man.

"I give you permission to think of me during your lonely nights in Castle Black," she teased and she swore the boy grew another shade of red, a shade she didn't think possible. "Until the next time we meet, Jon Snow." Not giving him the proper chance to reply, Nesta's mare trotted back to her place in the cavalcade, giggles still spilling from her lips, and far too distracted to sense the hard stare of the knight from the other side of the wheelhouse.

* * *

 **A/N** : Who cried when Jon and Theon had that heart-to-heart? I did. c': It's funny 'cause I have this whole scene written up between Nesta and Theon about his identity crisis for later chapters... I'm still gonna go through with it, though. Although Book!Euron wouldn't have been scared of no Wight, but that scene was hilarious!

Anyway, I made this chapter long because I haven't updated in a month, which was wrong of me. I should hope to update at least once if not twice a month with this story.

Lasty, I made a poll because I still can't make a decision of where Nesta's love life is going to go. I'm more certain/focused of her future role in the war of five kings than I am about romance. Lol. But I tease it plenty in this chapter on many sides, didn't I?


	5. All Choices Are Yours Pt 1

**NESTA**

This river, the Trident, isn't soft. How could it be? Too many battles were won and lost here for it to ever be gentle. The river poured over the ford making the swift waters roar in a way that was reminiscent of the sea. How many men have fallen into these waters? How many ironmen drowned when the Iron King, Harwyn Hoare, fought Arrec Durrandon and won? All everyone thinks of is how the Dragon Prince fell here by the hammer and hand of Robert Baratheon. Of how the bright and red rubies that decorated the three-headed dragon were forced out of his breastplate that many people still search for when they travel through the Ruby Ford.

The story of the rebellion has washed over the history of the once King of the Isles and the Rivers. It did not come much as a surprise for the Iron Kings brought fear in the heart of men and women alike. Ironborn did not create love stories that would make a maiden's heart flutter or spark a flame of chivalry in the depths of a man. The ironborn conjured scary tales. Stories the greendlanders told their children to frighten them and make them straight and narrow. Stories that made people look at her as a savage. Stories that made her remember the islands. The sea, the salt, and the rust of home.

Nesta had always liked the scary stories best.

What she wanted more than anything at the moment was to sail her mind away from the memory of the chaste kiss. Gentle and quick, she gifted a press of her lips against the soft and rosy-colored cheek of Jon Snow. It was innocent in all the right ways, and yet her young heart felt as if the act might've been much too bold of her. Men have kissed her hands, Garlan lips have met and known the crown of her head. And even though it's not all too clear in her mind's eye, she might've been given a kiss from her lord father on the forehead once or twice. There are several ways to show affection, she learned, but the kiss she gave Jon Snow keeps her heart racing in a way she can't quite explain. What is there to explain anyway? The thrill of making a residence in Jon Snow's heart and head as he spent the nights alone in the cold darkness of Castle Black was all the incentive she needed to do something she had never done before.

Wasn't she supposed to be forgetting about him? What use was there of focusing her mind on a boy she'll never lay eyes on again? He had taken the black, a duty for a lifetime that he could never walk away from once he swore the words. Her whole purpose of slipping away from the inn at the crossroads was because she wanted to pray and not be left alone with the crashing waves she likened her thoughts. But the river was much too strong and deep for natural worship, and so she settled for sitting at the grassy bank with her skirts pooling in her lap. It was a simple pleasure to wet her legs and barefeet with the sun shining brightly overhead.

The tranquility of the meadow was soon lost, however. Her peace and quiet was shattered by the sounds of laughter and the clanking of wood against wood. She lifted her eyes from the river and up at Arya Stark and a boy whose name she had not known. In their hands were broomhandles, their lanky arms maneuvering them to clash like steel meeting steel. Nesta couldn't help but snort at their play for it only seemed fitting that the Stark girl could not be bothered with staying still nor indoors. Arya Stark keeping herself busy with a quiet task? Never, not unless Septa Mordane forced it upon her. Even so, Nesta was not going to remain unnoticed. It was the boy who saw her and left himself vulnerable. Arya took that very moment of distraction as an open opportunity to bring the broomhandle to his neck. "Your head is mine, Mycah."

From here, Nesta could only see the back of the girl's head but she knew without a doubt that Arya was grinning. "It's the Lady Greyjoy," said Mycah, his voice somewhat trembling. Was she really all that frightening? And just when will these boys learn that she is no lady.

Arya soon turned around. "Nesta? What are you doing here?" If there was one thing Nesta enjoyed most since meeting the Starks, it was Arya's attitude. She kept true to her desire to always get straight to the point of things. If she had a question, she asked. She didn't hesitate or dance around it.

"Just wetting these legs of mine," said Nesta. It was a strange answer for sure, and Arya's rising eyebrow certainly cemented that.

Seeing as she had no real prayer for the Drowned God and her peace and quiet was long gone, Nesta managed to get herself to her feet and fixed her skirts by smoothing them down with the smooth strokes of her palms. There were probably grass stains on her dress but Nesta wasn't one to care. These were her travel clothes and there was no one to impress. "What were you two doing? Playing knights and lords?" Theon and Yara used to play that game. Nesta never saw the appeal of wanting to be someone else, even if it was just for a moment of fun.

"Something like that," was Arya's answer. "Do you want to play?"

"I don't imagine such a game to be fun while in a dress." She tugged her skirts for emphasis before she gave a rather mischievous smile. "But I could be the fair maiden." Nesta cleared her throat before laying the back of her hand atop of her forehead while her other rested above her heart. "Oh, sweet knight, for what lies in danger is my virtue. Protect my honor for it hinges on the sharp edge of your blade."

Mycah snorted at her jest despite the rather nervous shifting of his feet. Arya, however, rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. "And just _who_ are you supposed to be? Naerys Targaryen?" she questioned, curious while not all that enthused by her dramatics.

Greenlanders loved their Targaryens, she learned early in life. While Rhaegar's choice and Aerys' madness had thwarted many of the love plenty of the people once held for them, the once royal family were still thought of with fondness. And being that she was ironborn, Nesta did not care for them much or understood their appeal. Still, the Greyjoy could wholeheartedly empathize with Naerys of House Targaryen. While it was always spoken of how otherworldly of a beauty she was, she was strongly devoted in her faith. But the Seven left her to suffer a forced, loveless, and ignominious marriage with her brother-husband. Only two of her children survived after so many miscarriages tried to take her life and one unfortunately did in the end. All her suffering was brought to a bitter end a year after Aemon, the brother she truly held in her heart, had died. It was easy, almost frighteningly easy, for Nesta to feel that the beginnings of the same fate of the sad, pitiful woman awaited her sooner than she liked.

"Maybe," Nesta said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Maybe not. Does it matter? Does the fair maiden need a name? She's only meant to be the damsel, nothing more."

"The damsel still deserves a name," Arya seemed miffed, wanting to protect this person who did not exist. "And if she can, maybe she can save her own honor without the knight's help. But even if she can't, she's still a person. She deserves more than to be just a woman with no name."

 _If only the world thought the same_ , Nesta kept the thought to herself, though her smile was still visible. "Alright, alright. I'll think of a name but you still have a fight to finish." Mycah raised his broomhandle once more and the clattering sounds began again. But instead of watching, Nesta pondered again about Arya's words. It was easy, wasn't it? To submit to the powers greater than you. She didn't plan to go down easily, she fought for quite some time. She lost the battle to become a Tyrell, but she was still winning in delaying the impending doom of a marriage to a Lannister by keeping her flowering a secret. She did not have long, though. She could not be sixteen and still unbled nor prolong it until she was seventeen. The chambermaids tried to catch her often, looking at the sheets for any stain of blood to report to the queen or whomever Tywin kept under his thumb in the Red Keep.

Nesta studied when it came, sleeping on the chaise for she thought the red material of the chair could hide it should she not be quick enough. They hadn't caught on, luckily, for she made it a well-known habit that she slept on her chaise whenever she fell asleep with a book in her hands. Someone will be clever enough to see through her game one of these days and it was likely she might make a mistake as well after feeling too comfortable of having gotten away with it continuously thus far. But she believed in herself plenty. She had no one else to believe in her other than the Drowned God and even then, Nesta could not rely solely on him.

It was Arya's sharp cry that forced her out of her thoughts. Nesta jumped slightly, her heart pounding as she realized that Mycah's broomhandle had hit Arya's hand in their fight. She had dropped the broomhandle, immediately putting her knuckles in her mouth to suckle the pain from them. And before Nesta could say a word, the laughter of Joffrey Baratheon made the clearing's air immediately drop in temperature.

"Arya?" Sansa called out her sister's name, looking absolutely horrified. It was a curious sight to behold, really. Sansa and Joffrey alone? Unchaperoned? While the aspect of being alone with Joffrey of all people was a frightening thought all on its own, she didn't think Sansa would be so bold. Then again, the eldest Stark girl was to unfortunately become his wife so it wasn't so bad.

"Go away!" shouted Arya. The tears pooling in her eyes were definitely of frustration. "What are you doing here? Leave us alone."

Joffrey's eyes danced from Arya to Sansa and then back again. He must've not known who Arya was at first glance but her name made it quite clear. "Your sister?" he asked for clarification, but Sansa could only nod with her cheeks twinged a vibrant pink. "Nesta." She would've given anything to be invisible but that wasn't going to happen. "And who are you, boy?" Mycah became frozen to the spot once Joffrey took notice of him.

"M-Mycah," he stuttered and muttered all at once. His eyes immediately averted for he was much too afraid to look the Crown Prince in the eyes. "M'lord."

Nesta frowned at his obvious fear. He had done nothing wrong, at least nothing wrong enough to look and behave as he did right now. "He's the butcher's boy," Sansa further elaborated.

"He's my friend," Arya retorted with an edge to her voice. "You leave him alone."

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, is it?" Joffrey had sauntered closer. Lion's Tooth, the terrible and sharp sword he named at his waist, was now being unsheathed. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy." Nesta's eyes soon became wide as she saw that familiar and dark look flash in the green eyes of the Baratheon-Lannister. "Let us see how good you are."

Mycah hadn't moved. He was much too terrified to. Joffrey, however, would not relent. "Go on, pick it up," he taunted the boy. "Or do you only fight little girls?"

"She asked me to, M'lord." Joffrey didn't care for an explanation, but Mycah hadn't known that. "She asked me to."

"Are you going to pick up your sword?" It was no true question, and the way he said those words made it clear he was growing agitated. Whenever Joffrey's fun was either being delayed or losing it luster, he grew angry. And an angry Joffrey only meant what was to come next would never be kind to anyone involved.

"I-It's only a stick, M'lord." Mycah shook his head. "It's not no sword, it's only a stick."

"And you're only a butcher's boy, and no knight." Nesta knew what Joffrey was capable of and what he was trying to do here. And yet, she stood as if moving was next to impossible as the sharp point of Joffrey's sword inched closer and closer to Mycah's round cheek, just right below his eye. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, did you know that?"

Nesta looked down at the broomhandle that Mycah dropped before back up at Joffrey. She could do something. She could, but should she? Mycah was no one to her; not kin nor friend. He was just some lowborn boy she just met that unfortunately had gotten himself in Joffrey's line of sight. Nesta could slip away, hurry back to the inn and act as if she had not seen a thing. But the more she assessed what was happening, the more she saw herself standing where Mycah's stood and Joffrey, with Lion Tooth in hand, daring to pierce flesh. Jaime Lannister had stepped in back at Winterfell, swatting away the sword of his prince and nephew for her. He helped her when he wasn't asked to. He helped her when he had no reason to. And it was because of that, Nesta bit her lip and picked up the broomhandle and lightly pushed the sword away to step in front of the butcher's son.

"If he won't spar with you then I will," she had to play the fool. She knew what the prince wanted was no spar. He wanted to hurt Mycah and embarrass him before the Stark girls and for his own sadistic pleasure. Mycah whimpered from behind her, a sniffle short from outright crying. He probably never found himself in trouble before, so it was only fair that Nesta took his place. She had a penchant for trouble as Ser Jaime Lannister would say.

Eyes of green had narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed. "Did I ask to spar with you?" he questioned. "As if I'd waste my time crossing swords with a girl."

"But I'm highborn and he isn't. You wouldn't want it to be said that Westeros' future king plays children games with peasants, do you?" She could almost smirk from the way his face pinched at that. If there was one thing Joffrey cared about, it was the way people perceived him. He could not be strong or fierce as his father if the rumors or reality hadn't matched.

The sword soon lowered and Nesta was beginning to think that maybe she put an end to this chaos peacefully. But before she could blink, Lion Tooth swung at her and cut the broomhandle without resistance. There was no mistaking, the sudden action that could've killed her if he had been aiming to had terrified her. Her arm trembled, the one whose hand held onto the stick, and her eyes were wide and gleamed lustily with fear. That satisfied him, at least for now to see her look as if she were ready to let her buckling knees make her fall. It was her pride that kept her standing despite how much her heart wanted to give out at the very instant.

Joffrey then looked over at Mycah with a sneer. "You should be lucky that Nesta kindly reminded me of my duties, butcher's boy." He then looked back at Nesta, his chin slightly raised. "Interfere in my matters again and you will be punished, Greyjoy. Because my lady is here, I'll spare you just this once." Her heart had calmed then. The salt of her ironblood stormed like the ocean in her veins to remind of her who she was and how the ironborn did not frighten nor falter so easily. She hardened then, if only for the sake for not letting Joffrey feel anymore power over her.

What he said was the truth, she was certain of that. Sansa had yet to know how much of a monster her future betrothed was. He put on the appearance as the ever charming prince when he was around her and Nesta wasn't entirely sure why. Was he forced to for the sake of keeping this engagement or did he find it fun to have her so smitten with him? Joffrey never cared about anyone who wasn't himself, not once since she known him. Nesta just simply couldn't imagine that he only pretended to be so well-behaved because he did not want to truly lose Sansa's admiration.

"Of course, My Prince." Nesta dropped what was left of the broomhandle and dipped into a subservient curtsy. It would only be wise to keep him appeased, if only to keep Mycah unharmed. And there was no one here to protect her like Ser Jaime had done before. Not only that, she was much too proud to look to a child like Arya or Sansa, his betrothed, to put a peaceful end to all of this.

Arya kept her dagger-sharp glare at the prince as he ambled his way to Sansa and the two of them left from whence they came.

 **JON**

Night had fallen fast upon the land. It could've been no more than just an hour ago when the sky was painted with the familiar hues of red, orange and pink. Now? All the array of colors had faded, leaving only a matte black canvas with very few stars to be looked upon. Other than the darkness, the chilly wind would not relent its harsh bite. He could feel it through his cloak, making the hairs on his arms raise as it sunk its cold teeth in the form of small bumps that tingle his arms. In a way, it did feel somewhat flesh deep. His blood even felt cold as it flowed through his veins and the chill even touched his very bones. Near the hearth where the fire burned warm, the heat did not reach his skin despite how he huddled close to it.

 _"I give you permission to think of me during your lonely nights in Castle Black."_

He didn't think they would be, but the nights were lonelier than he imagined. In light of the loneliness and the memory of her words, Jon didn't want to think of her, of Nesta Greyjoy. The way her dark eyes held such a surprising softness in them despite impish gleam he had only known since they first met. The black of her hair that shone like the sea at night, how her skin looked pale and soft like untouched snow. How her lips alighted his cheek like a petal caught in a breeze, soft with the faintest hint of coolness. She was like sea foam and an ocean storm made flesh, and the little moments he spent with her had made him feel as if he was tucked away from the world for a moment. If he thought of her any more than he did now, he'd plague himself with thoughts that only served to wound than they did to ease.

"I didn't think you Starks could feel the cold," said the voice that could only belong to one man.

"Lannister," Jon turned to look at him as he entered the room that was all but empty. "I didn't see—I mean, I thought I was alone."

He could almost laugh. No, it was much more closer than almost due to the sight of how much fur Tyrion was bundled in. In all ways but one, he very much looked like a bear cub. "There's much to be said for taking people unawares," was Tyrion's witty reply. "You never know what you might learn."

"You won't learn anything from me," Jon said or rather mumbled. Tyrion's stay at Castle Black was nothing at all like his. He was treated as an honored guest, made to stay in the King's Tower of all places thanks to the Lord Commander himself. If he wasn't drinking then he was drinking and playing a game of dice at night with Ser Alliser, Bowen Marsh, and every other high officer.

"Oh, I learn things everywhere I go." Jon wasn't sure what to make of that, though he believed it to be true. "I learned just now that's the face you make when you're thinking of someone."

Unsure how in Seven Hells that Tyrion Lannister had figured that out, Jon tried to control any display of surprise by making no sudden expression. "What makes you say that, Lannister?"

"I make the same face." Tyrion's smile was small and… sad. "What's her name? Did you tell her you'd be going to the Wall? How did she take the news or is she even aware that you left?" Silence was his answer because even just one word to any of those questions might make it easy for the dwarf to figure out who he spoke of. So, as any man that could think would do, Jon said nothing. It was much safer that way.

"Ah, the whole you can't figure it out if I keep quiet trick." Was he really that easy to read or was Tyrion really just that smart? "You're playing a very old game, Jon Snow. One game that I'm quite the master of." He had nothing to say. Nothing that didn't sound stupid or childish. "Come, walk with me. They'll be serving some vile stew in the common hall by now, and I could do with a bowl of something hot."

For what it was worth, he too was hungry and so he fell in step with the Lannister lord and kept his pace slow. It seemed like the right thing to do because he didn't want to outwalk him. "I don't see your wolf," Tyrion so casually mentioned.

"I chained him up in the old stables when we're training," Jon answered. "They board all the horses in the east stables now, so no one bothers him. The rest of the time, he stays with me. My sleeping cell is in Hardin's Tower."

"That's the one with the broken battlement, no?" Tyrion raised an arm and pointed at its very direction. "Shattered stone in the yard below, and a lean to it like our noble king Robert after a long night's drinking? I thought all those buildings had been abandoned."

"No one cares where you sleep," he explained with a shrug. "Most of the old keeps are empty, you can pick any cell you want." It was the sad reality of the Watchmen. Castle Black once kept five thousand fighting men with all their horses, servants, and weapons? Now? It was pitiful tenth of that number, and all the parts of this old stronghold were falling into ruin.

The Little Lannister laughed. "I'll be sure to tell your father to arrest more stonemasons before your tower collapses." Because he knew him well enough, Jon had no doubt that he had not meant to be malicious. It was simply his sense of humor. And even if it were meant to be mocking, it was still very much the truth.

"It's better that I'm by myself," was all Jon could say. It didn't hurt him, not really. He was always alone, even when surrounded by people he knew all his life. "The rest of them are scared of Ghost."

"Wise boys." If anything, that should've been a joke. Perhaps it was for Tyrion knew many of his black brothers could not count past their fingers. Tyrion didn't linger on talks of the towers, he rather became preoccupied with something else. "The talk is, your uncle is too long away."

Just the mere thought of his uncle made him angry. Tyrion couldn't have possibly have known that as well? How upset he was that his uncle forced him to stay behind here while he went off to the Haunted Forest and left no sign nor word since the day he left? "He said he'd be back by my nameday." Part of him hoped his uncle would keep true to his words. The other part, the more sensible one, knew deep down that he wouldn't. His nameday had past a fortnight ago and Benjen still had not returned. "They were looking for Ser Waymar Royce, his father is the bannerman to Lord Arryn. Uncle Benjen said they might search as far as the Shadow Tower. That's all the way up in the mountains."

Before them were the steps that led to the common hall and Jon watched the Lannister take the first step in case he struggled. "I hear a good many rangers have vanished as of late." Once the steps were out the way and the only thing before them was the door, the Lannister lord pulled it open but not before sending him a grin. "Perhaps the grumkins are hungry this year."

Some of the recruits were here with a bowl of stew and a heel of what appeared to be black bread. Grenn, Toad, and a few others with names he didn't remember sat themselves near the great hearth for warmth. Jon, however, didn't even go near them. Instead, he chose a spot that was at the very far end of the hall, completely away from the others. Tyrion sat across from him, sniffing the stew that was slid his way very warily. "Barley, onion, carrot…" Though he muttered it, Jon heard him well. "Someone should tell the cooks that turnip isn't a meat."

"It's mutton stew." What would a man born southron know about a meal of the North? Jon bit the fingertips of his gloves to ease them off his hands and immediately wrapped his now bare hands around the bowl to give them warmth. Tyrion may have not enjoyed mutton stew, but Jon very much did.

Before he could give some heat to his belly with the first taste, Ser Alliser Thorne called his name. "Snow." It wasn't Lord Snow this time, for some reason. Curious, Jon turned to look at him to understand what the man wanted him for. "The Lord Commander wants to see you," he told him. "Now."

What had he done for the Lord Commander to want to see him? Did he do something wrong or had there finally come news about his uncle? It was much too early and a bit foolish to hope, and yet he had done so anyway. "Is it my uncle?" The words left him before he could think on them more. "Is he returned safe?"

"The Lord Commander is not accustomed to waiting," said Ser Alliser. "And I am not accustomed to having my commands questioned by bastards." Jon should've seen that coming. The man enjoyed to be a thorn in his ass for no reason at all.

To his surprise, however, Tyrion Lannister came to his defense. The dwarf left the bench he was on, standing in all the height he had. "Stop it, Thorne. You're frightening the boy." Jon was hardly frightened, at least not to extent where he had to be protected. But he had done enough damage by questioning the higher up, even if it was just a small offense.

"Keep out of matters that don't concern you, Lannister. You have no place here." Thorne had no care where you ranked in life when he spoke to you. At the Wall, he was a high ranking officer, and he could speak to whomever he chose that wasn't the Lord Commander as he liked.

"I have a place at court, though," Tyrion reminded him that with the most grating of smiles. "A word in the right ear, and you'll die a sour old man before you get another boy to train." Unlike others, Tyrion was proud to throw his Lannister name where it could serve as a shield. Jon didn't know whether that was wrong or right considering the advice Tyrion gave him before. "Now tell Snow why the Old Bear needs to see him. Is there any news of his uncle?"

"No," answered Thorne. "This is another matter entirely. A bird arrived this morning from Winterfell, with a message that concerns his brother." And with the coldness that Jon had ever know from him, he bitterly corrected himself. "His half-brother."

"Bran," Jon felt as if this was the first time he breathed in a long while. He hurried himself to his feet, almost not sure if he wanted to fly or sprint. "Something's happened to Bran."

A hand suddenly laid itself upon his arm. It was Tyrion, who was looking up at him with sad eyes. "Jon, I am truly sorry." Tyrion's words fell upon deaf ears, however. Jon rushed across the hall, first walking and then suddenly bolting as soon as he stepped outside the doors. The pounding noise of his feet hitting the wooden floors of the walkway matched the throbbing of his heart inside his chest that was thick with grief and fear as he ran. All his mind could think of was that he had to make his way to the Commander Keep. He couldn't stop for anything.

He practically crashed through the door and into the keep, his body in desperate need for air but Bran was still in the forefront of his mind. "Bran," he barely managed to utter. "What does it say about Bran?"

Jeor Mormont turned to him unfazed by his not so proper and sudden entrance. He was astoundingly unperturbed, the raven he had been feeding kernels of corn remained the same way on his arm. "I am told you can read," he said before forcing the raven to fly off, and the bird bid the order and flew to the window. Jeor reached for the letter rolled up on his belt and then handed it to Jon.

He hesitated, at first. As he took the letter from the Lord Commander's hand, Jon stared at the direwolf outline of the white wax that was the broken seal. He feared to read the words. Feared that what he thought, what Tyrion Lannister had thought, to be true. But he couldn't hesitate a minute more, he had to know. If he had to grieve then he must, Bran deserved to be mourned. Jon unfurled the letter, immediately recognizing that it was written by Robb's hands. The world began to become nothing but a blur as he tried to read the letter in its entirety. "He woke up," he whispered. "The gods gave him back."

"Crippled," the Old Bear reminded him. "I'm sorry, boy. Read the rest of the letter."

As if it mattered that Bran was crippled. All that was important was that he was alive and he was going to remain so. That was all that mattered, nothing less and nothing more. Since his uncle was long gone, the only person he could celebrate the joyous news with was Lord Tyrion. He quickly left the keep, a smile on his face where grief had been. When he returned to the common hall, Jon handed the letter Tyrion. "Bran is going to live."

Tyrion, startled yet curious, took Robb's letter and began to read the words. A small smile began to ease upon his face before he looked up at Jon Snow. "He's a lucky boy… to have fallen like that and wake up. Not many do, but I suppose some good things do happen once in a while."

"The gods can be kind when they want to," replied Jon as Tyrion handed him back Robb's letter.

"How about sharing that news with the girl you were thinking of earlier." He stiffened then, his eyes a bit wild as he looked at the Lannister. "You've been wondering what to write her, yes? That should give your words some meat or maybe you can come south and tell her yourself."

Jon could only blink. The confusion he was suddenly swept away with made him unable to properly think. "What?"

"I'm suggesting that if the Night's Watch isn't want you hoped it would be then you can come to King's Landing," Tyrion clarified, though not much.

"Why would I go to King's Landing? My own father didn't even offer me the invitation." Part of him was curious, of going to see the capital of Westeros. To be by his father and Arya and—

Tyrion looked at him as if he was the biggest fool he ever laid eyes upon. "Your father spared you of the court, that's why he did not invite you. You're a bastard and many nobles will not be kind, but you have seen for yourself that people born even lower than you aren't so kind either. You're Ned Stark's bastard and you were raised in his home. People don't know whether to pity Lady Stark, hate you or simply be interested in what makes you so special."

"There's nothing for me in the south." What would he do other than parade himself around as the living and breathing shame upon his father's honor. He already had done enough of that in Winterfell.

"Bastards have greater opportunities in the south, much better than they would have here of all the places in the world." Tyrion waved his hand, further emphasizing of how there was nothing well worth it in Castle Black. "You could be a knight for your family or even serve in the Kingsguard."

"Those are only two things, Lannister." Though he tried, that certainly wasn't much. Jon also had no desire for serving King Robert, but maybe his father and eventually Robb…

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders. "Surely you don't mean to be a Maester. How you even hoped to keep yourself from ever bedding a woman for the rest of your life just for the Watch still confuses me. At least a Maester gains skill in knowledge, and still the sacrifice is much too great."

He couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head as he eyed the letter in his hand. "If I suddenly left, that would mean I gave up. That I let these men push me south."

"All you'll truly do is make them twice as envious as they already are of you," the Lannister said. "You can leave. You haven't swore the words, but this lot were either sentenced here or have nowhere to go. You can go wherever you wish, Jon Snow."

If anything, Jon decided that he would consider it. He did not have much time for Tyrion did plan to leave relatively soon. But before he made his decision, Jon hoped to find ink and a blank parchment to write Nesta the news about Bran.

 **JAIME**

The day starts fresh, and yet the ritual remains the same. Today was one of the rare days that he woke without the morning shove of his nightmares, just two hours shy of dawn. It's dead quiet for the hour is palatable, so nothing and no one can disturb him. But before he leaves his featherbed, Jaime simply stares at the empty side of his bed for a good ten minutes. He and Cersei can never wake together in the morning since they left Casterly Rock, but Jaime enjoyed to imagine it since it was beginning to grow difficult to remember. And so his mind's eye creates the image, of how the sunlight would make her hair glow as if it it was spun of sunlight itself. The morning brightness that infiltrates the room would highlight her high cheekbones and for once, Cersei is at peace. She knows no anger, sadness nor worries. She is not thinking of days that haven't yet to come, no machinations running wild in her head. Peace, she feels it and knows it; truly, utterly, completely. His other half, his reflection; her peace is his peace, of that he always thought to be true.

When the lust for something he can never have fades, Jaime rises. The servants know his schedule, he doesn't have to summon them for they bring the tub for his bath after two warning knocks. As soon as they leave, he bathes and then changes into his smallclothes. The hour in-between their return with his morning meal, Jaime spends the time sliding a whetstone to sharpen his gilded blade and polishing his gold kingsguard armor until it shines as though it has never once been dull since it was first forged. After breaking his fast, it's time for his duties to begin and he's left to wonder just what shit luck the day will bring as he navigates it.

As soon as he entered the hall, Jaime felt the day was somewhat off. Usually the sun is annoyingly bright, so much so that he has to squint when traveling through the hall. Today, for some reason, the sunrise is not blinding but rosy for the sun is hiding behind thick gauzes of white clouds. Jaime studied it for a moment, his eyebrows bowed together as he contemplated it. He doesn't dwell on it, though. No matter what it's like outside is no real bother to him. He doubted he'd being go out there today since the days were a bit busier than normal with Ned Stark still newly adjusting being the Hand.

He made his way to Robert's solar, his face impassive as he watched the busy servants and noticed there weren't that many guests coming to and fro the Red Keep. He should enjoy it, for things will get lively once the tourney was but a day away. Oakheart was standing at the door since he had the late shift and he looked relieved once he saw Jaime heading his way. "Finally, I can get some real sleep." Jaime couldn't fault him for his eagerness for bed. He would not have a long rest, but it was still worth it. Once Oakheart left, Jaime positioned himself into his usual spot and sighed for what felt like another boring morning.

Two hours had came and went without him very much realizing it. The only people who came to Robert's solar were either the chambermaids, Ser Barristan, and soon Lancel. Eventually Pycelle came with letters in his hand. When he heard footsteps coming his way once again, Jaime looked left and was surprised to see Nesta Greyjoy. Her hair was in a simple braid, resting upon her shoulder with the ends of decorated with a seashell. Her dress was grey and simple, she never did really dress up until the occasion demanded it

"Ser Jaime," she greeted once she took notice of him.

"Greyjoy," Jaime said in return, only to be given a snort and the faintest of smiles. "What brings you all this way?"

"I need to speak with the king," she replied. Her eyes fell to the letter in her hands, the broken seal looked to be of a red rose. He was curious, but it wasn't his place to ask.

Jaime turned and grabbed the handle of one of the twin doors. He walked in with just a few steps. "Your Grace, your ward requests an audience with you." Robert looked up from the letter in his hands, somewhat intrigued.

"Send her in," Robert ordered as Ser Barristan stood at his side and Lancel poured him another cup of wine. Jaime could feel sorry for his cousin, but he didn't. He had a hard time feeling anything for Lancel.

Jaime stepped away and allowed Nesta entry, and she walked in with her head up and back straight. He had shut the door as he was supposed to, though his curiosity made him linger close.

"I hope I am not disturbing you this morning, Your Grace." Nesta always knew the right words to say, Jaime realized. Now that he knew she loathed the man something fierce, he wondered how difficult it was for her to see him, let alone remain so respectful. It always felt like venom in veins for Jaime and Cersei's eyes were always ablaze despite the false yet sweet words.

"What is that you want, girl?" Robert told her impatiently. "You must want somethin' to come to see me."

It was silent for a moment, almost as if Nesta needed a moment choose her words. "I do not ask anything of you," she began. "And it bothers me to do so for the first time today." A favor? Nesta needed a favor from Robert? That was certainly a first. "I ask for your permission to travel to Highgarden." Jaime leaned his back against of the door, crossing his arms as he continued to listen. "I was given an invitation to a wedding."

"Whose?" asked the king.

"Lord Garlan Tyrell and Lady Leonette of House Fossoway," she answered with little hesitancy. Jaime had met the young man a few times, and thought him to be more tolerable than his little brother. He did not boast nor did he act the showman. But to hear of this had proved that he was just any other pompous man of the Reach. The Tyrells always had their noses up a little too high for Jaime's taste, but he hadn't thought them to be cruel. What Garlan was asking of Nesta was wrong in every sense of the word. He wished her to watch him marry another woman when he had asked for her hand just shy of a year ago?

But the most maddening thing of it all was that Nesta agreed to go. What was she to gain from this? Had she not learned her lesson before? To understand what went on in that head of hers was a job only suited for a madman. "And you want to go?" Robert questioned, obviously unable to understand just as much as Jaime couldn't.

"Yes," Nesta swiftly answered. Her mind had been made up long before she first entered the solar, it seemed. There was no changing her mind.

"I've never understood women," Robert said in jest. "And I won't begin today. Go then, and give them a good word from me. Tell Ned to give you some dragons to buy them a gift or whatever it is you give at weddings."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Quickly, Jaime pushed himself off the door and pretended as if he had not heard single word. Nesta had come walking out using the door on the right side, her hands grasping much more tightly to the letter. There was an emotion on her face that he couldn't read and he wondered why it bothered him that he was unable to comprehend it. "I suppose you heard," she soon said and lifted her eyes from the floor to gaze up at him.

And here he thought that he could get away with eavesdropping. "I did," he decided not to lie. There was just no point anymore. "I can't find myself to understand why you'd go." Jaime hadn't held back the question that plagued him.

"Closure," she explained after a heartbeat of silence. It made sense, to desire some finality to what almost was or what could have been. While at times Nesta behaved her age, she more often acted older than her age more than the grown men and women around her. It took heart to seek an ending, though it must've stung. "Also," she gathered his attention once more, "I didn't want to ask but…" Nesta paused, awkwardly shifting her feet as her teeth sunk into her bottom lip for half a second. "Will you escort me to Highgarden? I would ask Tyrion to come with me but he will not be back in time. You are the only other person I trust."

Her words shocked him. And that's truly saying something for Jaime to be surprised about, well… _anything_. With the life he lived, no one should have the ability to do so and yet here he is, shocked. He lowered his eyes to avert from hers for a moment, still unsure if he hadn't misheard. She trusted him? Anyone holding the faintest bit of trust to the likes of him proved to be a rather difficult concept for him to grasp? Very, very few people would place the word trust and his name in the same sentence. He is the Kingslayer after all. How could anyone place their faith in him when he took an oath to serve and protect but still put a sword through the king he was meant to die for? And yet, Nesta Greyjoy said she trusted him as if it were the easiest thing to do in this world.

"I don't particularly like weddings," he humored her. There was no way Jaime was ever going to be serious, even for a conversation like this. It would be too uncomfortable to give the slightest bit away that he felt something about what she said. "The fanfare of it all usually gives me a headache." A small smile split her lips then, like she believed him wholeheartedly. "But since you've asked me so kindly, I'll…. consider it."

"Don't consider for too long," she softly warned him with a slight narrow of her eyes. "I hope to leave in two days time by first light." It would take two weeks and two days to travel the roseroad from King's Landing to Highgarden. He could understand why she didn't hope he didn't waste the little time she had on thinking on it despite Jaime already having made up his mind. He'd never make himself look eager or give her the satisfaction that he cared enough to do it because she asked it of him. There was still the matter of explaining to Cersei of why he would be going without Robert being the one to assign him. But something told him to do this for her, and he blamed it on the idea that Tyrion would want him to.

Nesta soon walked around him, her stride slow yet sure. Before she traveled any further down the hall, she turned around to look at him. "Thank you, Ser Jaime." She sounded touched when he had not done a single thing.

He gave a wordless nod, tearing his eyes away from her for the sake of some inner peace. Jaime only felt relief when he heard the sound of her footfalls growing distant.

 **NESTA**

The journey was slower than she imagined it would be, almost to the point that it felt tedious. Nesta had to keep herself from sighing a second time, her nails drumming against the armrest as she gazed out the window. The regional capital was breathtaking, she would give them that. The horizon looked as wide as the ocean itself and the hills reminded her of rolling waves. The lands were clad in the softest, thickest and richest green as if they were meant to absorb the intense rays of the sun. The blades of grass were still wet with morning dew and looked as if they provided cool shelter to any creatures that passed. She marveled at the expanse of land for it was the only thing to rapture this bored mind of hers. Although Sansa Stark and her friend Jeyne Poole sat opposite of her, she hadn't felt compelled to force herself to have a conversation with them.

Sansa begged to come along after overhearing Nesta explain to Arya about where she would be going. The youngest Stark girl was immediately put off by the wedding, though she did seem interested in Highgarden itself. Sadly, it interfered with her dancing lessons and so she sacrificed going in efforts to not ruin the schedule she only recently gotten herself used to. Lord Stark was busy with other matters and did not care for the idea of leaving Arya alone in the Red Keep. He also hadn't very much liked the idea of Sansa being under the protection of Jaime Lannister either. Along with Jaime, a few of the Lannister red guards joined their trip as well as Captain Jory Cassel and Alyn of the Stark household guard. It seemed like much, their entourage, but it was well enough for the king's ward as well as a daughter of House Greyjoy. It was also befitting of the daughter of the Hand of the King and the betrothed of the Crown Prince.

"You never did say why you were invited to the wedding," Sansa decided to be the first to begin a conversation. Nesta looked away from the window and at the pretty redhead with mild confusion before she soaked in what was said.

"I am a friend of Ser Garlan," she kept it simple without saying too much. If anything, Nesta had hoped that she and Garlan were at the very least friends. That had to be the reason why he invited her, isn't it? Why else would he give her an invitation? He was never mean. He would not invite her here to rub his marriage in her face.

"What is he like?" asked Jeyne, more than curious of the Tyrell knight and lord.

Nesta tried to keep a smile that wasn't tight or showed her slight irritation. She was not irritated with Jeyne at all, she simply didn't enjoy speaking much about the man she nearly married. "They call him Garlan the Gallant. He's a handsome lad and tall, but what I care for most is his good heart."

"The lady he is marrying is a lucky one from how you describe him," Jeyne sighed. She sounded almost envious, and Nesta couldn't fault her for that. "I hope to marry a man like Ser Garlan."

"I'm content with Prince Joffrey," said Sansa with the sweetest of smiles alighting her face. "He is everything I ever wanted."

It would be a lost cause to try to warn Sansa that who she was enamored with was all an act. It was also wrong for it to be Nesta to crush her young heart with such truths. She had no right and it was not her place. Some things are meant to be learned on your own despite the severity of them. It was really worrisome in this case considering this was Joffrey of all people. "Some of us are lucky," Nesta found herself saying. "If only every girl gets the chance to be."

Jeyne shared her sadness with a mirroring look, and Nesta had felt that the three of them might've finally moved passed from the tension between them since Winterfell and the incident at the Trident. Their chatter had ended abruptly when a light knock came from the side of the carriage, startling them all. Nesta made her way to the otherside of the seat, pushing back the soft curtain to look up at Jaime as he rode alongside them atop of his stallion. "Highgarden is only a mile away," he warned them and she nodded in gratitude while Sansa hurriedly asked Jeyne to brush her hair.

Nesta swallowed her laugh at the Stark girl's slight panic. She couldn't help but wonder if her own dress was good enough now that she looked over the Stark girl's pricey choice of dress. There was a feast and tourney today while tomorrow was the wedding itself, so it was important that Nesta brought her best clothes with her. She was not only representing herself now. She represented the king, also. Her choice of dress of the day was gold and black; pure taffeta gold with a bodice and skirt paired with laces in the back. The black was embroidered with gold accents that began along the center and carefully lined with a gold trim. While the actual design expands as it traveled the length of her skirt. The same frilled and gold trim was around the neckline as well as the half-length sleeves despite the gold color of them. The seamstress even had done boning in the front and back, along with an interior lining while the bodice was given an additional layer of fabric to make the dress keep its shape.

The style of her hair was simple, long and brushed straight with a perfect part in the middle since she didn't want to bother with braiding it. Garlan had always said her simplicity was what made her prettiest in every room. He always made fun of the crazy curls and updos his sister would wear, forced and choosingly. It was foolish to remember that, and even more so on her part to go as far as act on what he liked.

The sooner this wedding was over, the better.

The only good thing was that she had some letters to read from both Jon Snow and Robb Stark. Robb's letter arrived first, most likely due to the fact that the Wall was much further north as so the raven had to travel a bit of a greater distance. Her heart was eager to break the seals and read them, but she never had the privacy to do so since the letters arrived on the day of her departure to Highgarden. Once she was situated in the chambers she was made to stay in and the night fell, Nesta would read them and ink a feather to write replies.

The carriage had slowly come to a stop, and Nesta knew right away that they had passed Highgarden's wall and gate. Sansa's smile came easily and brightly, her soft and small hands gathered Nesta and Jeyne's own with glee. She wished she could have Sansa's excitement, but it was impossible since her stomach felt as if was ready to drop at any minute. The Lannister knight had announced who they were and gave the flower household guard that came forth the invitation. Once they were cleared, the carriage moved again and they were now entering the courtyard.

Sansa's hand wouldn't let go of hers, leaving the Greyjoy to wonder how nervous she must be. Nesta tried to calm her by giving her a firm squeeze and urging her to breathe. Once she suggested to Sansa to expel some air did she see the girl relax enough to calm. Jory had open the carriage door for them, taking hold each of their hands to let each of them down safely despite Sansa making it difficult by not letting go of her right hand. To make it easier, Nesta linked their arms once their feet met the ground. It only took half a minute for the Stark girl to lean close for comfort. While her nerves had gone haywire, Tully-colored eyes immediately began to drink up every bit of the scenery around them.

The smell of flowers wafted in her nostrils and her ears picked up on the sounds of water fountain. Dancing with the sound of the spouting water, there were harpers, fiddlers, and singers providing the air with music. There was so much going on and many people just arriving almost at the same time as they had. It was truly as if they stepped into another world and it made the taste in Nesta's mouth grow from sour to downright bitter as it truly sunk in that she could never have this sense of peace. "It's so beautiful here," Sansa looked almost ready to weep. "How could anyone ever want to leave?"

Before Nesta could so much as reply, a young woman possibly a year or two older than her began to approach them. Her face was heart-shaped and her eyes were a warm blue that gleamed with the same kindness that her dazzling smile gave off. Her hair was of ringlets of soft brown and it reminded her of the mop of curly dark brown hair that was Garlan's. If she had given the chance to observe the girl long, she might've easily guessed that the smiling lady was Garlan's only sister. "Welcome to Highgarden," she greeted them friendly enough. "You must be Nesta Greyjoy," she said. It was a little unnerving that she was so expected like this. "My name is Margaery, daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell. Garlan is my brother."

The resemblance was there, not so much as it was with Loras. Nesta only remembered him because he came to King's Landing often, for personal reasons that involved a certain Baratheon. Because of her closeness with Garlan, Nesta did well to keep such information with sealed lips. "Yes, I am Nesta of House Greyjoy; daughter of Lord Victarion Greyjoy and ward of the King," she properly introduced herself. "Accompanying me is the Lady Sansa of House Stark, daughter of the Hand of the King and Prince Joffrey Baratheon's betrothed."

"A Stark?" Margaery quickly beamed. "I never imagined to meet one this far west!" Sansa blushed and seemed at a loss for words, her grip on the Greyjoy's arm tightened some.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Margaery." The words finally spilled and she had not stumbled once despite how she seemed close to doing so. "Highgarden is the most beautiful place I have ever seen."

The Tyrell chuckled at that as if the praise was as great as the harper's lulling tune. "That means much coming from a Stark of Winterfell." Margaery soon turned her attention back to Nesta as if she had something else to say. "I hear the Kingslayer has come with you as well. Is it true?" Her dark eyes looked left at Jaime. He was finished with giving the red guards orders, and did not seem happy to hear the name coming about so soon. She had owed the knight a debt now for coming with her to Highgarden, but she never did care for that infamous name he had been branded with.

"I did not bring the Kingslayer," Nesta kept her voice even, all the challenge was in her eyes. "I brought with me Ser Jaime Lannister of King Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard. I hope it is not too much of me to ask that you address him as so and to refrain from calling him by that name."

Sansa's eyes were as wide as she could make them, almost as if she was shocked by the defense she gave the Lannister knight. Nesta's left ear felt hot once she heard the sound of a not-so subtle snort coming from his direction. Margaery, herself, looked amused at the choice of words and kept her smile. "I meant no offense, My Lady Greyjoy," she apologized or at the very least, genuinely seemed to.

"I am not a lady," she corrected her in the politest of tones. "And I understand that was not your intention to be malicious." Nesta couldn't truthfully decipher Margaery's true intention. How could she? The Lady Tyrell proved to be quite difficult to read, much more difficult than Garlan had ever been before she had gotten to know him. Her smile seemed fake and yet it also seemed true. It would take a while to learn the Tyrell girl's dance but Nesta would eventually figure out the steps one way or another. She had been raised in the game since she grew up in the Red Keep, this was how they were all meant to survive.

Margaery had then waved over some servants that stood with their heads bowed and awaiting her order. "Kindly show Lady Stark and Nesta Greyjoy to their chambers for the remainder of their stay and attend to their every need," she ordered swiftly. "Again, my family and I welcome and thank you for attending my brother's wedding," she said with a smile still adorning their face. "The hospitality of Highgarden is yours."

Nesta curtsied and so did Sansa before they began to follow the pale-green dressed servants. Even the servants wore nice dresses, she noticed. It was a flaunt of their wealth that they had to remind everyone that they had plenty of. As they entered the halls of the castle and was out of earshot of Margaery, Sansa soon whispered; "Why did you speak to Lady Margaery like that? Won't she feel slighted that you stood up for Ser Jaime like you did?"

The king's ward had looked down and at her right at the younger girl that was some inches shorter than her. She seemed truly puzzled and worried, likely wondering if Nesta's words would have any effect on how the Tyrells would treat her after that. "Ser Jaime traveled with me on my request, Sansa. And he is also providing me protection." She turned her head to look forward again, making sure that they did not lose the servants escorting them. "It is my duty to protect him from any slander and just as I have done for him, I would do for you. I doubt they would be so bold to considering you will one day be the queen of us all. But I demand respect for me and my company, I will not settle for anything less."

The surprise melted from Sansa's face, her nod slow to give way that she understood what Nesta had done. She soon smiled then, almost as if she had no worries as she did before. "That's kind of you." Her words were a bit surprising, and Nesta looked away from the maids and back at the Stark girl again.

"I do not do what I do or say what I say because I am kind." Jaime and Tyrion would laugh if they had heard Sansa's words. Nesta and kind? She could be, and it was only to those of her choosing. "I do what I do and say what I say because people remember how you treat them. You can be kind but kindness is not always returned. People remember actions than they do kindness. In the North, people were good to you because you were Lord Stark's daughter. In the South, you have to show what it is your willing to do. I was willing to protect Ser Jaime and so now people will know that if you are serving me or a friend of mine, I will not tolerate any mistreatment of you. If I was kind then all that would be remembered was that people can speak ill of anyone around me because I am too forgiving."

Sansa was new to this. And in a way, Nesta knew that she had to prepare the girl for more things like this if she was meant to survive in King's Landing and to one day rule. She planned to uphold her promise to Robb, to protect his sisters. More importantly, Nesta thought to teach her the way of things because Tyrion had done the same for her. If not for Tyrion, she might've made plenty of enemies because she did not try to control situations and likely make them worse. "I see now," the Stark girl quietly said. "The south is so much more confusing than I thought."

"You'll eventually get used to it." Nesta smiled. _If you don't want to be eaten alive,_ she kept to herself.

Sansa chambers were opposite of hers, and Jeyne Poole was given one to the left of Sansa. Nesta had watched Sansa and Jeyne huddle together, giggling and whispering before they skipped into Sansa's room likely to gossip about everything so far. Nesta could only shake her head at their behavior before she looked up at Jaime, who was wearing that cutting smile of his. "Don't say what you're going to say," Nesta exhorted with the most deadpanned look she could conjure. "Don't expect me to do what I did ever again."

"You might require my protection again," he teased. "You protect your people, don't you? Even against the harshest of words." She could slap him. One good slap to knock the stupid grin off his face, but she wouldn't. It was her fault for forgetting that Jaime was following behind them and hearing every bloody word. "You know I'm going to tell Tyrion about this, don't you?" She sucked her teeth at that and fought the color from showing up on her face. Tyrion would be worst, never allowing her to forget how she took a moment to care about Jaime despite how she always minced him in every conversation.

"Bugger off," she spat at him before fully stepping into her chambers and slamming the door shut in his face.

"You might want to open the door, Nesta. You wouldn't want your possessions to fall in another's hands." Well, that was embarrassing. She thought she could easily rid him with that, but she had forgotten the guards and servants had her things and needed to bring them in. Lamely, Nesta opened the door as Jaime leaned against the doorway with his arms folded. The four red guards and two Highgarden servants ushered her things in as she was made to stand there like an idiot and thank them for their duty.

One servant, likely having felt the high tension between her and the knight looked quite trouble. "I-Is there anything that you need?" she asked Nesta, although her eyes looked as if she prayed to flee from here at this very second.

"Within the hour I should like a bath. Oh and a flagon water with a dish of fireplums will do just fine." The poor servant bowed her head and scurried away, leaving Nesta still holding the door's hand with an irongrip and Jaime still quite smug.

"Was that—" She hadn't let him finished as she shut the door harshly once again. This time she was entirely free of him. With a smooth turn and a triumphant smile, she walked towards the luggage filled with her clothes for her stay.

A doublet and some breeches would be her outfit of choice for the tourney since she planned to join the archery segment. It was a good time as any to show off her skill, although the answer remained unclear if she wanted to do this for fun or to one-up Garlan. Her feast dress, she decided to hang it in her wardrobe along with the dress for the wedding. In order not to waste time for when it was time to leave, she kept the few travel clothes in the luggage so she didn't have much to clean up.

Once that was out of the way, she opened up her wooden chest that held contained a great many things. Gifts from Tyrion over the years, the dress she wore when she was seven during the day she left Pyke. She also had with her two little woodcarved ships. One was designed after Iron Victory, her father's flagship and the other was the Golden Storm, her Uncle Aeron's vessel. She later learned that Fury, Lord Stannis's warship, had destroyed that vessel. It hadn't changed the fact that she still had its likeness still with her in spite of that.

Organized by dates in a pile tucked to the corner were letters from Tyrion, Garlan, and a few other lords and ladies she had corresponded with over the years. Sitting atop of them all were Jon Snow's and Robb Stark's letters. She could read them now, but the time she wanted to take to read and reply to them would be much too short. Nesta smiled as she gazed at them, still eager to read them but something told her that the letters were full of nothing but good things.

* * *

 **A/N** : Apologies for the super late update! How did you all like this chapter? Let me know in the reviews. c:

Also, I edited the poll mostly because Jon/Nesta and Jaime/Nesta were the top two. So, once again, please vote! I'll finally have a clear direction now as far as romance is concerned. The plot, however, is still set and I can't wait to get to all the gritty bits I have in store.

Restay: I can't wait to share it with you all. I have a lot in store, but I have to let you know what kind of person she is. I think I need to give her a bit more growth until then!

lily1994: Really? I think I might've read two and they were good. I think Jon Snow stole everyone's heart recently, leaving poor Jaime in the dust.

RHatch89: I hope you enjoyed this one. c:

Bella-swan11: I love your reviews. You know the characters well and how I'm trying to portray them, but I am bit scared you might catch on to my surprises.

DaphneSlytherinWinchester: I totally understand everything that you mean! Oh, I had to make her soft, just that once. Bran fell. If he didn't, well, she might've still been a very green kraken. Jaime is hard to write in that regard because he's been faithful all his life to one person! So how do you take that away from him without ruining him? Now I see why some people are afraid of that, and definitely. It'll be a slow burn. Nesta is 15 and that means she'll probably be 18+ if I go with a romance between the two of them because for one, it has to be a slow burn and to capture Jaime finally freeing himself of Cersei has to be realistic and I still think she might be too immature now for him. Although, that goes without saying if I don't choose one route that I could possibly do. Jaime actually gave up Cersei waaay earlier in the books but the show didn't go that route. I won't follow the show entirely because of this because I think the show solidified the reasons why Jaime felt compelled to stay due to the events that happened. Tyrion and Tywin both told us that Cersei isn't that clever, so we should've seen that coming. It was because Cersei cheated and Tyrion screaming that to him before he left Westeros that made Jaime really end things. The show kind of put Jaime on the back burner as far as development goes because Jaime became reaaaaaaally intriguing to read during that whole taking back Riverrun from the Tullys. I could never do that because Jaime isn't that type, and I think that way some people like him with Brienne. I hope you like what I've done so far because it's going to be a wild fucking ride soon.

I don't know why but I just saw your other review! Lmao. Oh, it's because its from the other chapter! Well, it's a possiblity. I could go with the route that Jon doesn't stay at the wall or all their interactions will unfortunately be through letters! You're not the only one. People are kind of neck and neck about those two ships. Lmao.


End file.
